


Of the Shape of Hearts and Humans

by Cowboy_Sneep_Dip



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Alternate Universe - Mechas, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Blood and Gore, Body Horror, Canon? Don't Know Her, F/F, Family Issues, Fire Emblem: Three Houses Spoilers, Grief/Mourning, Mecha, Romance, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2021-01-09
Packaged: 2021-02-22 23:33:34
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 20
Words: 83,852
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23335504
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip/pseuds/Cowboy_Sneep_Dip
Summary: At the age of 21, following her graduation from the Royal School of Fhirdiad, Annette Fantine applies to Garreg Mach Academy, the most prestigious military academy in all of Fódlan. Upon her arrival, though, she is immediately thrust into a world of intrigue, danger, and horror - the world of SEIROS, the secret military project designated to combat the sudden plague of Demonic Beasts.Here, under the guidance of the enigmatic of Director Rhea and her commanding officer Catherine, Annette and others are tasked with piloting Relics - mysterious machines built to combat the beasts, while they work to unravel the secrets of SEIROS and the Relics.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Ingrid Brandl Galatea
Comments: 41
Kudos: 87





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's an NGE AU! Surprise. (No one who knows me is surprised by this. I'm sorry for the me that I am) 
> 
> Anyways, like all of my work these days, this AU is workshopped with @jireemblem on twitter! Who also provided the wonderful illustrations of the Relic mechs. Love them so much, this AU wouldn't even exist without them ;-; ♥

_We will be arriving at Garreg Mach Station in five minutes. Riders will depart from the left-hand doors. Again, we will be arriving at Garreg Mach Station in five minutes._

Annette swallows and takes her arm off the handrail, leaving a faint, sweaty handprint where she was clenching it. Her other hand holds a duffel bag, a big Royal School of Fhirdiad logo emblazoned in worn silver lettering on the side.

The traincar hits a curve and rattles, swinging the straps back and forth. Annette stumbles and catches herself on the handrail again. It’s quiet here, the only other passenger at the far end, paging through a newspaper with disinterest. Outside the windows, the countryside flies by - rolling hills and forest glades giving way to rocky outcroppings. 

The tracks swoop upwards, cleaving through the rock, up and up, towards Garreg Mach. 

Annette squeezes the handrail tighter, closing her eyes.

Breathe. Breathe. She fumbles in the pockets of her jacket and slips a pair of earphones around her long, orange hair. She taps her foot as the tape player crackles to life, soft melodies flitting into her ear. 

As she pulls out the tape player, a piece of paper tumbles from her pocket to the floor. She kneels and picks it up before grimacing and crumpling it up. She jams it back into her pocket and grasps the handrail again. 

She sighs.

The scenery races by, cliffs steeped in fog dropping to thick forests. The land is old here, they say. The forests are thick and tangled and ancient, untouched by the hands of modern man. Annette steps up to the window and watches the city grow in the distance. 

Garreg Mach. A marvel of modern engineering, the crown jewel of the three kingdoms. Skyscrapers poke up from the edges of the mountains, protruding from the forests - silver knives jutting into the sky, blue windows reflecting the blue sky. 

The train dives into a tunnel, and Annette holds her breath as the traincar is plunged into darkness. The music from her tape player is muffled, dulled by the roar of the train and the howl of wind in the tunnel. 

The train bursts out from the other end of the tunnel into a broad urban cityscape - more buildings, sleek silver office buildings and apartment buildings piled against each other, narrow streets crammed with pedestrians waiting at crosswalks, traffic lights. The train passes over a river bordered on both sides by more buildings, more shining silver. 

She can see it, now, as the train rattles closer towards the station. At the peak of the mountain, the center of the city, above it all - the Officer’s Academy. 

Annette takes a breath to steel herself and kneels to check her duffel one last time. Medicine; check. Inhaler; check. Paperwork; check. Passport; check. She checks her phone one last time. A missed call. She deletes it and slips the phone back into her duffel bag. 

With a screech of the brakes, the train slides into the station. Garreg Mach Station stands on metal stilts above a street, the platform open to the cool mountain air. With a hiss, the doors slide open.

_Garreg Mach Station. Please watch your step as you depart the train. The next stop will be Varley Station._

Annette steps off the train and stands on the empty platform, watching a pair of birds on a telephone wire. Her tape player winds to a slow, and then a halt, and then a click. She reaches into her pocket and presses the rewind button with her thumb.

The train pulls out of the station, leaving her alone on the platform. She closes her eyes and breathes. In, out, in, out. Calm, collected. 

With a soft, determined _hup!_ she picks up her duffel back and slings it over one shoulder before following the platform to the stairs. It’s colder here than she had expected, and she hopes the officer’s academy sold spirit-wear hoodies. She shakes her head. Of course they don’t, they’ll have uniforms. 

She’d seem them when she filled out her applications - the slick pressed black and beautiful gold edges, the stiff combat boots and elegant epaulets. Mercedes had been jealous. 

Annette rests one hand on the rail as she walks down the station steps towards the street. A few pedestrians pass, here and there, but for the most part, it’s quiet. 

A woman stands off to one side, leaning against the side of her car. She lifts her sunglasses and watches the station.

Annette shrugs her duffel over her shoulder again and slips through the turnstile, stepping out onto the sidewalk. 

The woman is still watching her. She’s a pretty sort, with blonde hair tied in a messy ponytail, a brownish leather jacket, and fitted khaki slacks. She squints in Annette’s direction.

Annette blushes and tips her face down, her eyes fixed on the sidewalk. She wants to pull out her map and find her way to the Officer’s Academy, but more than that she wants to not be stared at by the first stranger who sees her. 

Does she really look so out of place? 

“Annette?” the woman calls out.

Annette winces and tips her face lower, walking faster. She smacks her hip into a parking meter and stumbles.

“Annette Fantine Dominic?” the woman calls again, sticking her sunglasses on top of her head. She sidles between her parked car. “That _is_ you, right?”

Annette takes a deep breath, tugs her headphones to rest around her neck, and tries to straighten her back. “Annette Fantine,” she corrects stiffly. “Can I help you?”

The woman looks at her curiously. “My name is Catherine, I...left you a voicemail?”

“Sorry, I must not have gotten it.”

“Ah, yeah,” Catherine shrugs. “Lousy reception outside the city up here.” She rifles through her jacket and pulls a manila folder out. “You did receive your forms, right?”

“Yeah, my admission papers?” Annette clutches one fist around her duffel bag strap.

“Not exactly,” Catherine says, frowning. 

Annette says nothing. Wind blows through the street, ruffling her hair. 

“You should come with me,” Catherine says, walking back to her car. She looks at Annette, still frozen. “It’s okay, I’m from the Officer’s Academy.” She sighs and pulls a wallet out of her jacket, flipping it open. Her ID card checks out - Cassandra Charon - SEIROS - Level 4 Clearance. “Director Rhea sent me to escort you.”

“Director Rhea?” Annette frowns. “Why?”

“Look, this would be a lot easier if you just got in the car,” Catherine sighs. “I’ll explain on the way.” 

She tosses the manila folder onto the passenger’s seat. 

“Or you can read it for yourself.” 

Annette clutches her fist tighter around the strap of her duffel bag and squeezes. “Okay.”

-

The woman drives like a maniac, tearing around tight corners and skating through stoplights as they shift from yellow to red. Annette half-suspects the sunglasses aren’t helping her. The whole car smells like cheap takeout and stale beer.

“You’ve heard of SEIROS, right?” Catherine asks. 

“No,” Annette says, thumbing through the folder resting in her lap. The first page is her own application for the Officer’s Academy. She winces, recognizing her own handwriting. A photocopy of some of her essay answers, marked with pen. A photo of her - her class photo from the Royal School, a photocopy of her passport. Another page, a...blood test? She frowns. 

“It’s a...ah, subset of the Officer’s Academy,” Catherine explains, shifting her car up a gear. The engine whines as they plunge away from a street and onto a broad, curving road towards the forest. 

“Aren’t we going to the Academy?” Annette frowns, anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach. Great, first day in Garreg Mach and she’s already been kidnapped.

“We are, just taking a different route,” Catherine continues. “Your application stood out, so you’ve been preselected from a crop of applicants to join the SEIROS program.”

“Why did it stand out?” 

“We can talk about all that later,” Catherine says. “For now, it’s important that you understand that you’re going to be attending the Officer’s Academy as a normal student - you will attend classes, you will live in the dormitories. From all angles, you will be an ordinary Garreg Mach student.”

Annette turns another page. A plastic laminated card sits in the folder. A portrait of her, and raised lettering. Annette Fantine Dominic - SEIROS - Level 2 Clearance. She holds it up and looks closer. There’s more information on the card - her blood type, her birthday, a crest she doesn’t recognize stamped in the corner. 

“Nothing that you see or hear today can be shared with any of your classmates. Do you understand?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annette says quietly. 

“Good!” Catherine grins. “Wouldn’t want to have to kill you.”

“Hahah…” Annette can’t even fake a laugh. “Wait, what?”

The car slows down as they arrive at a military checkpoint. Men in black body armor with guns slung across their torsos guard the road, standing alert as Catherine pulls her car to a stop. She rolls the window down.

“Hello, boys,” she says coyly, pulling her ID card out. “Bringing Annette from the station. Could you radio the director and tell her we’ll be there soon?”

“Yes, ma’am,” the guard says, saluting and reaching for his radio.

“Thanks,” Catherine nods, rolling her window back up. 

Past the checkpoint, the road curves down, plunging into a black tunnel. Lights turn on as they enter, activated by the motion of the car - bars of yellow that flash by at an increasingly fast pace. 

Annette can feel the engine rumbling, the shift of the gears as Catherine pushes the car faster, faster. She clutches her hands around her knees and stares at the glovebox. 

“Hey,” Catherine says, looking at her. “You okay?”

“Please watch the road,” Annette says weakly. 

Catherine laughs. “I’ve made this drive a thousand times. I could do it in my sleep.”

“Then it should be easy to watch the road.”

“Jeez,” Catherine exhales. “They didn’t tell me you were going to be so uptight.”

Not uptight, Annette corrects internally. Just anxious. She watches the tunnel lights race by. 

“He really never told you about the SEIROS project?” Catherine asks. 

“Huh? Who?”

“Your father.”

Annette’s hands squeeze her kneecaps, digging into the flesh underneath her jeans. “I haven’t spoken to him since I was thirteen.”

“Is that right,” Catherine says. She taps a thumb on the steering wheel. 

A radio crackles to life - a handheld walkie-talkie type, crammed into a cupholder between several crumpled packs of cigarettes. “Catherine? You there?”

Catherine reaches one hand down to pick up the radio. “Heya, partner.”

“Where are you now?” 

“In the east tunnel,” Catherine says, peering at the road. “Should be there in less than five minutes.”

“Stop at the medical bay and get Annette suited up.”

“What?” Catherine’s eyes widen. “Why?”

“Reports coming in from topside,” the flat voice returns. “We need her ready to deploy in less than fifteen minutes.” 

Catherine stares at the road. “Understood.”

-

“Leave your duffel bag here, we can pick it up later,” Catherine says, opening the door to an empty locker room. Fluorescent lights in the ceiling flicker to life as they enter. 

“What?” Annette stutters, clutching her bag to her chest. “Wait, I don’t understand-”

“There’s no time to explain,” Catherine says, taking the bag. “Undress.”

“What?!” Annette stutters, stumbling backward. “Listen, you can’t just tell me to-”

“Annette, listen to me,” Catherine says, resting a hand on Annette’s shoulder. She grips her tightly. “I’m sorry, but there’s no time. We can talk about it later. For now, you need to undress.”

“N-no!” Annette stammers, stepping back. “I don’t even KNOW you, and you drive me into some weird government facility, and now you’re telling me to undress?!” 

“Annette, you are enrolled at the Officer’s Academy, yes?”

“Y...yes?” Annette frowns.

“Then I’m ordering you, as your commanding officer. Undress.”

“I-”

Catherine sighs. “Okay, fine, but you’re going to ruin your clothes.” She steps forward and slaps a button on the wall before pushing Annette back. She stumbles through a set of sliding doors and into a small tiled chamber.

“What the-?!” 

Before Annette can protest, the door slides shut again. 

_Decontamination starting_ , chimes a robotic voice. 

A nozzle in the ceiling lowers. Annette stares at it. 

The chamber fills with a spray of...something, some chemical that smells sterile and soaks into Annette’s clothes, through her jacket and her jeans and slicking her hair down around her shoulders. She can’t protest without getting it in her mouth and her eyes, so she leans against the wall and spits, sputtering out a mouthful of the disgusting liquid. 

_Decontamination complete._

Before Annette can get her bearings, tiles in the wall slide back and hot air blasts out. She yelps and stumbles again, collapsing against the wall Catherine had pushed her through.

“Don’t fight it,” comes Catherine’s muted voice from the other side of the door. “It’ll only take a minute.”

The light in the chamber changes hues, and a thick, heavy gas fills the chamber. Annette coughs and squeezes her eyes shut. A vacuuming noise prompts her to open her eyes again, to see what fresh horror awaits her. The gas filters out of the chamber.

One more round of spraying with a liquid and another blast of drying hot air, and Annette stumbles out of the decontamination chamber, dazed and numb and shell-shocked by it all.

Catherine laughs and slaps her on the back. “If you didn’t like that, you sure aren’t going to like what we have in store for you. Now come on, I pulled out your gear for you.” 

A bundle of clothes lies on a bench between a row of lockers. Annette picks it up and regards it curiously. The clothing feels slick, almost leathery. She prods it and can feel malleable wires running through the fabric. Places where the suit is hard, molded plastic.

“That’s your plugsuit,” Catherine explains, sitting on the bench. “For one, it’s way easier to clean than fabric. But more importantly, it’ll monitor your vitals - blood flow, oxygen levels, heart rate, respiration, all that.” 

Annette unfolds the plugsuit and watches it uncurl to the floor. Calling it a jumpsuit is maybe a little too generous - it’s form-fitting enough to have a molded breastplate. She grimaces at it and then looks back at Catherine.

“It’ll keep you safe inside the Relic,” Catherine assures her. “It can reduce the impact of blows and it’ll keep all your bits inside you even if you get hurt.”

“The Relic?”

Catherine nods. “What you’ll be piloting.”

“Wh...why?” Annette furrows her brow. She didn’t sign up for the air corps, did she? 

“Because our other pilot is in the infirmary and you’re the only one who can.” 

Annette stares at the suit in her hands. 

-

It’s worse than she thought it would be. She can feel the plugsuit molding to her body, outlining every curve, every clenched angle and tense muscle. She breathes in and out as Catherine walks her out of the locker room. 

The hallway is dark, dimly lit, with pipes and wires protruding from the walls at all angles, giving Annette the distinct impression that everything is half-finished, rushed. She and Catherine walk quickly, passing more doors, stairs, passages off to who-knows-where. 

It feels like walking with bare feet - no shoes, just the feet of the suit she slipped into, grippy against the tile. Annette fights down a wave of panic. 

“It’ll be okay,” Catherine assures her, resting a hand on her shoulder. “I promise.”

“How do you know?”

Catherine is saved from having to answer by another woman meeting them in the hallway, a stern-looking woman with dark eyes.

“Ah, Shamir!” Catherine smiles, trying not to show her relief. “How goes preparations?”

“Not good,” Shamir frowns, crossing her arms over her chest. She’s dressed rather plainly, in a grease-splattered jumpsuit emblazoned with the letters SEIROS. “Galatea is out of the medbay.”

“What?” Catherine asks. “Why?”

“She insists she can fight.” 

Catherine sighs in exasperation. “Okay, I’ll go talk to her. Can you walk Annette to her Relic? Explain all the, ah...relevant details.”

“Can do,” Shamir says, giving a curt nod. Catherine rushes off down the hall, muttering something about reckless idiots.

“So!” Shamir says, turning to Annette. “All suited up?”

“I...guess so,” Annette says, uncertain. “I’m still not entirely sure what I’m supposed to be _doing_.”

“Piloting a Relic, of course.” 

“I...I don’t know how to.”

Shamir pats her shoulder before realizing she’s not qualified to comfort someone with anxiety. She pulls her hand back. “It’s okay,” she says. “It pretty much pilots itself. All you have to do is fight.”

“Fight...what?” Annette asks as they continue their long journey through the dark hallways. 

“Demonic Beasts,” Shamir says, as if it’s the most obvious answer in the world.

“Oh.”

Annette had heard of Demonic Beasts, of course - those horrible writhing monsters of teeth and scales and leathery wings and those horrifying golden masks. They appeared here and there, sometimes in the wilderness, sometimes in crowded population centers. Some radio reports said they were the work of a rogue terrorist cell, others called them the Goddess’ punishment. No one seemed to know for certain what they were, or what they wanted, other than carnage.

“Here at SEIROS, we’re in charge of protecting Garreg Mach from the Demonic Beasts,” Shamir continues, fumbling in her pockets for a plastic keycard. She swipes it through a lot and a set of pneumatic doors opens with a hiss. “Using these.”

Annette walks through the doors in something like a daze. 

The doors open up into an impossibly cavernous space, stretching out as far as she can see, lit up with bars of fluorescent lights, tripod stands of more lights, power cables snaking across it all. They’re standing at the edge of a precipice - rickety metal scaffolding set into the rock wall, overlooking it all. 

Overlooking...what, exactly? 

Annette walks forward and grips the platform’s handrail, letting her vision adjust to the brightness. Sunlight filters in from above, beams of yellow through holes in the ceiling. 

Her eyes are immediately drawn to the center of the room - a colossus stands stock-still, wires sprouting from its legs, its back, every part of it. A horrifying creature, bone and metal and wiring and what looks uncomfortably like leathery meat. Annette feels sick, but maybe it’s just the vertigo from the height of the platform. She clutches her hands tighter and tries not to throw up.

“Come on,” Shamir taps her. “We need to get going.”

“Th...that’s a Relic?” Annette mutters. 

“Yes,” Shamir says. “That’s Galatea’s Relic, Lúin. You’ll be piloting Crusher, over there.” 

Annette follows Shamir’s pointing finger. Along one wall of the cavern, there’s another colossus - another towering mesh of bones and metal, illuminated with fluorescent tripod lights casting beams up at its shape.

“N-no,” she says, shaking her head. “I can’t. I’m sorry,” she wraps her arms around herself. “I can’t.” 

“Now isn’t the time to be uncertain,” Shamir grasps her shoulder, trying to pull her forward. “You can have second thoughts after.”

Annette stumbles backward, tripping on the metal steps. Shamir darts forward to catch her, and in her arms she can feel Annette’s heaving chest. 

“I…” Shamir takes a breath. “I know it’s scary, but you need to do this. No one else can.”

“Why not?!” Annette pulls herself up onto shaky feet. “Why can’t someone else?” 

“Because Crusher is yours,” Shamir says. “You were selected because you’re the only one that can pilot it.” She rubs her temples. “We only have one other pilot, and we can’t send her out alone.” 

Annette grasps the handrail again, suddenly aware of just how high up they are. Just how _big_ the Relics are. She stares at the cavern floor, dozens of feet below. And there, at the foot of the stairs - another woman in a plugsuit, with an adhesive bandage on one cheek and one wrist wrapped in a gauze brace. 

Galatea, Annette assumes, blinking.

She’s a tall, muscular woman, her plugsuit molded to her frame, a thick braid of blonde hair draped down her back. Like Annette’s, her plugsuit is mostly black, with gold-trimmed accents lining the curves of her body. Annette drops her gaze from the woman’s back.

That’s when she sees him - the man Galatea is arguing with, a stern-looking man in a clean-pressed military uniform. He had evidently grown his hair out since Annette had last seen him - a neat orange part tied into a thin braid in the back. 

“Annette,” Shamir puts a hand on her shoulder.

“I’ll do it,” Annette stands up, clenching her hands into a fist. 

-

Metal scaffolding, tripod lights. Vehicles parked here and there - big trucks full of materials, mobile power generators, a bank of chunky CRT computers with rows of seats, most of them filled by uniformed men and women chattering anxiously into crackling radios. 

At the bottom of the cavern, Annette can see the edges, too - holes blasted into the earth, unstable ground marked with caution tape. It doesn’t feel like a secret military base, so much as a quarry. She curls her hands into fists and squeezes, taking deep breaths. 

More metal scaffolding - metal platforms and supports built around - what had Shamir called it? Crusher. Ladders and steps and technicians with welding kits and laptops plugged into power circuits. None of it seemed finished. 

“Pilot’s here!” Shamir calls out. “Finish up final prep!” 

“Yes, ma’am!” calls down a chipper voice. A young man sticks his head out from the scaffolding and grins. “Just about ready, ma’am!”

Shamir turns to face Annette. “We’ll be walking you through the process on your comms, so you don’t need to be nervous. It’s like…” she sighs. “It’s like all of us, here, are uh. With you.”

The young man walks up behind them and taps Annette’s shoulder. “Don’t mind her, she’s kind of terrible at optimistic speeches.” He pulls a grease-stained glove off and offers his hand. “Cyril,” he introduces himself. “First-Class Relic Engineer.” 

Annette takes his hand. “Uh...Annette. Fantine. Pilot.”

“Oh, we all know about you,” Cyril says excitedly. “It’s been a long time since we’ve had a new pilot.”

“Don’t get ahead of yourself, kid,” Shamir says, brushing him aside. “Prep finished?”

“Yes ma’am,” Cyril nods, putting his gloves back on. “Power levels at peak capacity, all systems online. Just need a pilot.”

“Well,” Shamir says, gesturing to Annette. “Get going, then.”

Annette climbs the ladder slowly, passing by scaffolding now devoid of engineers and electricians. This close, she can see the texture of the Relic up close. She can reach one hand out to touch it, touch the shape of it. It feels hard, almost like stone, its surface cracked and tan, bound together with metal and stitched up with wires. She grips the ladder tighter, fighting off nausea. 

She can do this. She can.

A loudspeaker crackles to life and Catherine’s voice cuts through the tumult of noise and preparations. 

“Four minutes to contact. Lúin is cleared for departure. Crusher, you need to move.” 

Annette grimaces and climbs faster, tamping down her fear. She needs to do this. She’s the only one who can, right?

She opens a hatch in the back of the Relic and grimaces. The center of it, the torso, is filled with a thick red liquid that sloshes against the sides. It smells musty, like the dark recesses of a dusty library.

“It’s okay,” Shamir calls from the ground far below. “It’s a fluorocarbon-based liquid, you can breathe it. The cockpit will pressurize when you shut the hatch.”

Annette stands on the edge of the cockpit, staring out at the cavern, watching activity, watching the anthill work. Power generators spinning to life, cables sparking with electricity. At the command center, the bank of computers, that man is standing, watching a monitor. His eyes are fixed on a display Annette can’t read, but she can assume. 

He says something to an attendant and power courses along a cable and into the other Relic, Lúin.

“Pilot Fantine, what’s your status?” a voice crackles up from the collar of Annette’s plugsuit. “What’s the issue?” 

“N-nothing,” Annette stammers. She grasps the edge of the hatch and swings, plunging into the thick red liquid. 

It floods her mouth and nose and she coughs and sputters. Behind her, the latch slams shut and seals with a hiss, plunging her into darkness.

And then there is light. Heavy displays light up with color, illuminating the inside of the cockpit, shedding color across a low-slung seat. Annette, still holding her breath, navigates the thick water and slips into the seat. 

She fumbles for straps, a cross-body belt that secures her into the seat. One each arm-rest, she can see two empty slots, and beyond that, two control sticks. 

She holds her wrists up - the plugsuit has hardened armor around her wrists, gauntlets of hard plastic and wires. She takes a deep breath and slots her arms into the armrests. 

Jolts of pain spark through her body, making her yelp a burst of bubbles into the cockpit. She can feel the slick, cold prick of needles piercing the skin of her wrist and watches in horror as the wires from her suit flush red. She yelps again, struggling and trying to pull herself out.

“Don’t struggle,” Catherine’s voice comes over the radio. “It needs to go through its verification check.” Her voice is still clear, even though she isn’t addressing Annette anymore. “Convert power to generators three through six. Power flow at max.”

Another voice cuts in. “Two minutes to contact, ma’am.” 

“Shit,” Catherine mutters. “Manually launch Crusher.” 

“But m-ma’am, the verification check-”

“It’ll verify.” 

Annette squirms and struggles, unwilling to voice a complaint for fear of more of the thick liquid spilling into her lungs. She coughs and swallows a mouthful as the Relic lurches to life. 

Around her, the displays seem to calibrate, fizzling to life, digital displays of the cavern around her. She can again see the anthill of activity, this time absent Lúin. She clenches her jaw and grits her teeth. 

The cables run from the cockpit seat downwards, the trail of her blood slipping lower, sinking into something set into the floor. 

Her stomach lurches as the Relic propels upwards, through the gap in the cavern ceiling. Like a rollercoaster, like a speeding train, shooting upwards in a burst of electricity - she crashes through trees and the Relic collapses, crushing another grove of trees.

Ahead of her, she can see Lúin charging towards her - in the daylight, its shape is so clear. A humanoid shape, it’s head formed into a grim approximation of a beak, the point of a spear separated by rows of jagged teeth. Vacant eyes, and a stone body moving with more elegance than its substance should allow. 

“Get up!” the other pilot’s voice shouts over the radio. 

Lúin bounds over a ridge of rocks in a single jump and skids to a halt at Crusher’s side. It’s arms sling underneath Crusher and pull it up to its feet. 

“Snap to it!” 

“Crusher hasn’t validated yet,” Catherine explains over the radio. “Cut her some slack, Ingrid.” 

Lúin spins and holds its hands out. The whole chassis seems to glow orange as energy focuses into its jagged claws, and it draws a slender polearm from a sheath on its back - a mechanized lance, its tip glowing orange and dripping wisps of fire. 

Annette gasps for breath. She should have taken more medication. She should have brought her inhaler. She should have- 

Before her panic overwhelms her, the trails of blood seep into the floor and illuminate a shape - a crest set in the floor, the same crest she had seen in the corner of her plastic ID card. The Relic rumbles to life. 

_Crest confirmed. Pilot Dominic validated_.

RELIC: [CRUSHER] - CREST OF DOMINIC


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Pitching this AU was just me going "hey you know the bits in NGE where the monsters are super gory"

Annette screams.

“Calm down, pilot,” Catherine’s stern voice comes over the comms system.

Annette screams, and pulls back her arms, trying to dislodge them from the armrests, trying to pull the needles from her skin. She screams and thrashes, choking bubbles into the cockpit. 

“She doesn’t have time to adjust,” Shamir’s voice, flat and unemotional. “Contact in thirty seconds. Galatea, move to intercept.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ingrid says. 

Annette stares through the cockpit screens, wide-eyed in horror. She can’t even choke out a scream. 

Ingrid’s Relic - Lúin - moves through the forest, vaulting a ridge of rocks and crashing through a stand of trees. It moves fluidly - no, not fluidly, but like something wholly  _ alive _ \- not like the mechanized things Annette had seen before, but like a living creature, bounding over the treetops, lance held forward. 

Lúin skids to a halt and braces, lance held out defensively. 

Annette holds her breath. 

An earsplitting howl cuts through the afternoon air, sending birds scattering to flight. The trees in front of Lúin part like the green waves of the sea, leaves rippling in the wind. A beast lunges out of the woods and crashes into Lúin. 

Ingrid growls loud enough for the comms to pick it up as she braces, blocking the beast with her lance and spinning to slam it into the ground. Trees split and dust billows up around them.

Annette stares. 

“A little - ah - help here?!” Ingrid shouts. She smashes the butt of her lance against the creature, making it bleat and howl as it squirms under the weight of her Relic. Where the Relic threatens contact, a glowing shield seems to appear - a barrier of light around the beast. 

It’s horrifying, to see the beast up close - a four-legged monster, shredding claws lashing outwards. Its skin is leathery, black, scaly, connecting ridges of hard armor plating, off-tan like the color of bone. And the mask - that horrifying mask with gold features - the ridge of a half-crown, open eyes, an angular nose, mask giving way to a curtain of red that covers the mouth. As it thrashes, Annette can catch glimpses of what’s beyond the curtain - teeth, teeth, teeth.

“Annette,” Catherine’s voice is steady in the radio. “I know it’s scary, but you can do this. You need to do this. Stand up.” 

“I-I-I-” Annette stammers. “I can’t-”

“You can,” Catherine corrects. “Stand up.”

Annette closes her eyes and nods. She clasps her gloved hands around the control sticks, squeezes them tight, like they’re the only life rafts she has. 

“Stand up!” Catherine commands. “Now!”

Annette breathes out. 

She stands. 

It’s easier than she thought it would be. There’s a creak and groan beneath her, turbines spinning to power, energy coursing all around her, through the wires and joints and panels, bringing the Relic to life, to motion. She stands above the trees, her hands out as if to steady herself, her Relic hunched over, a toddler on unstable feet. 

“A little - help -” Ingrid’s voice crackles over the comms before cutting out. 

Catherine’s voice crackles to life. “Ingrid, the beast’s Barrier is still up. You need to break through it.”

Annette jerks her head upwards, and she can feel Crusher’s head jerk in tandem. Blood - her blood - flows through both of their veins now. She curls her hands into a fist and her Relic matches her movement. 

Lúin rolls off of the beast, their wrestling match concluded as a pair of claws swipe at the Relic, sending its lance skittering into the dirt. Ingrid grunts and pushes the Relic to its feet moments before the beast crashes into her again, tearing at her Relic.

Claws puncture the hard armored shell and blood sprays from the Relic, dripping down its abdomen and legs. 

Annette gasps.

“Ingrid, I need your status.”

“Cockpit integrity at 80%, automatic sealant activating,” Ingrid says, without missing a beat. She plunges her Relic’s fist into the beast and knocks it back. Her fist ricochets off a transparent barrier of light, rippling out from where she connects with it. “Dominic, help me!” 

Annette curls her hands into fists and stands up straighter, trying to work out the angles of her new form. 

Ingrid throws the monster off again and plunges her lance into its black flesh. The hot, glowing blade pierces through the yellow barrier and slices into the beast, spraying more blood out, showering the trees with red. 

Annette takes her first tentative steps - left foot, right foot, left foot, stumble. 

“There you go, Ingrid!” Catherine says. “Vital Defense Barrier broken!” 

The beast howls and lunges at Lúin, its mask glinting gold in the sun. Claws rake Lúin’s legs and Ingrid cries out, stumbling backwards. 

“Annette, you need to help her,” Catherine says again, her voice crackling with static. “She can’t take it on her own!”

Ingrid drops her spear and reaches out, grasping the writhing beast and hoisting it up above her head before her strength gives out and she drops it with a heavy splat to the ground. It cries and swipes at her again. 

“Lúin down!” Shamir’s voice cuts into the comms. “Her cockpit’s leaking!” 

“I know,” the ghost of Catherine’s voice replies. “Annette. Annette, respond.”

“I’m...I’m here,” Annette mumbles, dazed.

Lúin is laying on its back in the dirt, now, head writhing, its awful beak gnashing and snarling as the Demonic Beast crouches over it, 

Whatever is happening is obscured by the mask’s curtain, but blood rolls down the sides of the Relic and pool on the ground beneath it.

Ingrid screams. 

“ANNETTE! DO SOMETHING!” Catherine shouts. “DON’T JUST STAND THERE!”

It’s all too much. The smell of blood - her blood? The thick cockpit pressurization liquid? Her head pounds, her lungs choke. She can’t breathe. She can’t see. Ingrid screams in one ear, Catherine in the other. Nausea overwhelms her and she slumps over in the cockpit chair. 

“ANNETTE!” 

“I’m sorry,” Annette says, her voice hoarse. “I’m sorry.”

The Demonic Beast pulls its head back, ripping a chunk of stony armor from Lúin’s side, pulling it, stretching the flesh beneath until it snaps and blood gushes out into the forest. No, not blood, Annette shakes her head. Not blood. It’s not blood.

None of this is real. None of this can be happening.

She thinks about Mercie, waving goodbye on the platform at Fhirdiad. She thinks about her father, his stern face as he spoke to Ingrid. She blinks back tears. 

Lúin pushes itself up weakly, one clawed hand reaching up, grasping the beast’s mask. 

Ingrid cries - no, roars as she squeezes her Relic’s fingers, cracking the golden mask, pulling it back - it shatters into pieces, raining chunks down onto the trees, and beneath is the mouth - no eyes, nothing but a slick, leathery head and a wide mouth crammed tight with jagged, uneven teeth. 

Lúin’s second hand reaches out, snagging the beast’s jaws.

Ingrid screams as she pulls her arms apart, ripping the mouth at the jaw. Blood and teeth and a horrible tearing sound. 

Crusher collapses to its knees, Annette helpless.

“INITIATE BURNING QUAKE!” calls Ingrid’s harsh, hoarse voice.

“Don’t!” Catherine tries to protest, but too late - Lúin’s hands erupt into flames as Ingrid lashes one arm out to grasp her lance. The body of the polearm erupts with energy, coursing orange and rippling with flames as Ingrid pushes her Relic to her feet and plunges the blade into the Demonic Beast’s open throat. 

It howls, writhing and spurting blood, until it finally collapses into a heap on the ground.

Ingrid manages to stay on her feet only a moment longer before collapsing, leaking fuel and blood pooling beneath Lúin. 

Annette stares, dazed, empty. Crusher rests on its knees, motionless. The lights in the cockpit power down. 

-

Annette gasps for breath and bolts upright in bed. 

She’s blinded by white lights, white walls. She blinks. An infirmary. The medbay?

Curtains blow in, ruffled by wind from the open window. Beyond, she can see blue sky. Clouds drifting by. It’s quiet, save the soft beeping of a cardiac monitor. She presses a hand to herself.

Not hurt. She rotates her wrists. No marks there, either. 

The door to her room swings open and latches shut behind Catherine. “You’re awake. Good.”

Annette rests her hands on her lap and glances up at Catherine, almost shamefully. “I thought it might have been a dream.”

“No such luck, kid.” Catherine sticks her hands in the pockets of her leather jacket. “You feeling okay?”

Annette nods. A cool breeze wafts through the window, and when the curtains ripple she can see outside - shimmering glass towers. The breeze cleans out the smell of antiseptic and replaces it with the cold, crisp scent of morning. “Yeah.”

“You were unresponsive, so we brought you here. You’ve been in shock.”

Annette nods again. That seems about right. 

“Fortunately,” Catherine continues, sitting on the end of the bed. Her weight shifts Annette’s position on the stiff mattress. “You didn’t sustain any other damage. You should be okay to leave as soon as you’re ready.”

Annette stares out the window at the blue sky. Somewhere in her view, a pair of birds flap their wings and take off from a telephone wire. 

“What about Ingrid?” Annette turns to face Catherine. 

“She’s…”

“Is she hurt?” 

Catherine nods and sighs. 

“I want to see her.” 

“I don’t think that’s such a-” 

Catherine’s protest is cut off as Annette slides her legs off the side of the bed and slips out of the sheets, her bare feet landing on the cold hospital tile. 

“Annette, wait!” 

Annette yanks the wire pulse oximeter off her finger and stumbles on unsteady feet towards the door. “Which room is she in?” 

Catherine purses her lips. “Next door. SEIROS has the entire floor reserved.” She sits still on the end of the bed as Annette opens the door and dashes out into the hallway.

The hospital hallway is bright, one side a wall of glass windows, floor-to-ceiling, looking out on the city of Garreg Mach. The sun sparkles off the skyscrapers and apartment buildings and cars. In the distance, a train rushes between two buildings. 

Annette isn’t looking out the window, though. She grasps the handle of the next door over and yanks, her heart thrumming in her chest.

Ingrid’s room is much the same as hers - a bed, an open window, a bank of monitors displaying her vitals, a cabinet and sink in one corner, with a metal stool pushed against it. 

“Ingrid!” Annette gasps.

Ingrid is laying in bed, half of her face wrapped in bandages, her blonde hair tied back and kept out of the way. An IV drip snakes through bandages on her arm. Her pillow is stained red where she lays. Her chest moves up and down, barely, also wrapped in white bandages with blots of red seeping through. The beeping of her pulse reading is weak.

Annette stumbles across the room and kneels at the bedside. “Oh, no, Ingrid-”

“Be careful,” Catherine says, quietly closing the door. “She’s resting.”

“I-I-I didn’t,” Annette stammers, blinking back tears. “I didn’t-”

“It’s okay,” Catherine rests a hand on Annette’s shoulder. “No one blames you for what happened.”

“It’s my fault, though!” Annette stands up, brushing Catherine’s hand off her shoulder. Tears blur her vision and drip down her face. “It’s all my fault!” 

“She was already hurt,” Catherine says. “She never should have gone into battle, but you weren’t prepared. Things happen.”

Annette blinks and rubs her eyes with balled fists. What’s  _ wrong _ with Catherine? How can she say that? Ingrid could have died - they both could have died! And all Catherine has to say about it is that  _ things happen?! _

Annette shoves her away and rams her shoulder into the hospital door, stumbling out into the hallway. Away from Ingrid, away from the smell of blood and antiseptic and that awful, awful beeping sound. 

She falls to her knees at the window, staring at her shaking hands. 

Now, in different light, she can see it - little pinpricks of red, three on each wrist. She gasps another sob and breaks down. Everything about the past day coils in her stomach, making her nauseous, making her angry, making her scared and lonely and making her break down, sobbing on the hospital floor. She kneels in front of the window, staring at her hands, tears flowing freely. 

She can see it in her mind’s eye - the shape of the gloves molded to her hands, smeared red with that awful liquid filling the cockpit. Images flash into her mind - being pulled from the powered-down Relic, being laid in a cot and bundled into an ambulance. Staring at Ingrid, motionless, bleeding, an oxygen mask on her face and military paramedics kneeling over her. 

She wraps her hands around her stomach and sobs. Her face presses into the glass panel and she can see her own reflection - her puffy, red-rimmed eyes, her shaking hands, her tangled and sweaty hair. And she can see Catherine’s face.

She kneels behind Annette and rests a hand on her shoulder. “Annette.”

“I can’t do it,” Annette says. “I’m sorry.”

“Annette, can you look up?”

Annette blinks and tilts her face up.

“What do you see, out there?”

“I…” Annette wipes one eye. “I don’t know. A city.”

“Not just any city,” Catherine says, kneeling beside her. “Garreg Mach is the most advanced city in all of Fódlan. Look at all those people - every car, every train, every building. You and Ingrid protected this. And look, there, on the hilltop - the military academy. The future of our entire continent rests there.” She pats Annette’s shoulder again. “I know we’re asking a lot of you, but no one can do this but you.” 

“I...I don’t know.” 

“Go, get some rest, and we can talk about this later.”

-

“What?” Annette frowns, staring at the paperwork in her hands. “Live with you? Aren’t I staying in the dormitories?” 

Catherine shakes her head as she fishes her keys out of her pocket. “Unfortunately, no. SEIROS rules, pilots can’t stay with other students. Too much of a risk of a confidentiality breach.” She presses a button on the key fob and the car beeps to life.

“It’s not like I know anyone here,” Annette says, slipping into the passenger’s seat of Catherine’s car and shutting the door behind her. The car still smells like stale beer and cigarettes.

“You’ll be starting classes on Monday,” Catherine explains, settling into the driver’s seat and resting one hand on the stick shift.

“Oh.”

The car’s engine rumbles to life and Catherine tears out of the hospital parking lot, rubber squealing against asphalt. The sun is sinking lower in the sky, now, casting rays of fire across Garreg Mach. 

Annette flips through the folder. “You got my duffel bag, right?” 

“Yep, it’s in the trunk,” Catherine says, leaning back and setting one hand loosely on the steering wheel. The car screeches to a stop at a train crossing as a train rattles past. “Oh, you don’t mind if we do a little grocery shopping before heading home, right?” She smiles sheepishly. “It’s been a long week, it must have slipped my mind.”

“Uh,” Annette says, closing the folder on her lap. “Yeah, of course.”

“Great.”

Annette sighs and rests her elbow against the window, slumping over and watching the city roll by. With every passing minute, the previous day seems to slip further and further away, like a dream washed away by the morning sunlight. She stares through the glass and watches pedestrians milling around on the sidewalk, storefronts buzzing with lights, restaurants drawing flocks of the evening crowd. The orange sun glints off the silver, the glass, the asphalt, the sheer density of everything. Cars and people and streetlights and telephone wires. Annette reaches for her pockets, instinctively looking for her tape player.

Ah, it’s in the trunk with the rest of her things. 

“So...you and Gilbert, huh.”

Annette looks up. “What?”

“He never told you about his work.”

“He left,” Annette curls her fingers into a fist.

“Huh.”

Annette scowls.  _ Huh _ ? What’s that supposed to mean?

“He wanted you to come here, you know.”

“I don’t care.”

Catherine stops trying.

-

The self-checkout machine beeps with each package Catherine swipes over it.

“When you said groceries, I kind of thought you meant, you know...meat,” Annette says. “Vegetables.”

“Ah, well,” Catherine says, bundling a value pack of dried noodles out of their cart and onto the counter, “I’m sort of a lousy cook.”

Annette kneels. The bottom of the cart is weighed down with cases of beer. 

“Can you grab some of those?” Catherine asks, swiping boxes of instant curry across the scanner. 

Annette grimaces and slides a case out before lifting it up to scan.

_ Beep _ . Beer.

_ Beep. _ Beer.

_ Beep.  _ Frozen dinners.

_ Beep _ . Meal replacement bars.

Annette isn’t exactly a gourmet cook herself, but surely she can do better than  _ this _ . She sighs and lifts another case of beer from their cart. She eyes the grocery store’s bakery with envy as they wheel their cartful of food back out into the parking lot. The sun has almost fully set, leaving channels of fire between the flickering streetlights and the ever-dimming skyscraper windows. Annette can’t help but stare at the city, wondering.

She sees Ingrid’s Relic crashing through the trees, the Demonic Beast carving a swath through the land. What would happen if something like that came into the city? 

“Look alive, Dominic.”

“Fantine,” Annette corrects again, helping haul cases of beer into the car’s trunk. 

-

“Sorry about the mess,” Catherine says, kicking one leg out and sending her apartment door clattering against the wall. She carries her armful of groceries to the kitchen table and drops it in a big heap of plastic packaging and labels. “I’ve been working twenty hour days since we got Crusher up and running, so I haven’t exactly had time to clean.” She slips off her leather jacket and unbuttons her shirt, leaving both on the counter and stepping around the apartment in a tank-top. 

Annette takes her shoes off at the door. Somehow she doesn’t get the feeling the apartment is much cleaner on a better week, either. 

It’s a small, modest apartment, with a large central room, kitchenette, balcony, and a few doors shooting off into side rooms. 

Catherine picks up one of the packages of instant noodles and sets it beside the stove before getting out a pot to boil water. 

“The bathroom is next to my bedroom, over there. You’ll be staying there-” she points to another bedroom, using a fork like a pointer. “Feel free to unpack and get comfortable, I’ll have dinner ready in…” she peers at the package of noodles. “Three to five minutes.”

“Thanks,” Annette says, slinging her duffel bag over her shoulder and trying the door handle to the room Catherine gestured to. It slides open without resistance.

The guest bedroom is a rather spartan place, furnished with a double-bed, a closet, and a desk piled with papers and notebooks. Against one side, a window looks out on the city. Annette steps around piles of laundry and stares out at the cityscape, lit up for the night. It’s beautiful, and she wonders if she’d be allowed to sit out on the balcony to get some fresh air. 

She flips on the desk lamp, bathing the room in light, and she can see the full extent of the mess - muddy boots left by the door, a dresser drawer hanging askew, clothes hanging from the bedposts, a bra hanging from the back of the door handle. She grimaces.

An awfully lived-in guest bedroom. Shame Catherine couldn’t be bothered to clean up a bit. 

Annette sighs and drops her duffel on the bed before brushing some of the clothes off into a pile on the floor. She fishes her tape player out of her bag and sticks it in her back pocket before walking back out into the apartment. 

It smells like sodium and artificial beef flavoring.

“Dinner’s just about ready,” Catherine says, lording over the stove like she’s actually doing any cooking. “Go get washed up and we can eat.”

Annette does as she’s told, stepping into the bathroom - thankfully cleaner than the guest bedroom - and washes her hands, her face. She combs her fingers through her hair and stares at herself in the mirror.

Has she always looked so tired?

“You coming?” Catherine calls.

“Just a minute!” Annette says, shuffling out of the bathroom and finding a seat at the kitchen table. Catherine sits opposite of her and cracks a beer open with a hiss.

Thankfully, Catherine must have done a  _ little _ bit of cooking - she serves two bowls of instant noodles gussied up with boiled eggs and thin slivers of reheated meat. Annette stirs hers suspiciously, eyeing the unnaturally-colored broth. 

Not as bad as she was fearing, thank goodness.

“So, how are you settling in?” Catherine asks through a mouthful of noodles. She swallows and washes it down with a swig of beer. 

“Um, okay, I think.”

“It’ll calm down, don’t worry,” Catherine assures her. “Sorry your first day was such a mess.”

“Is it...always like this?” Annette asks, taking another cautious bite. 

“Like what?”

“Th...the beasts,” Annette says quietly, like someone might be listening. 

Catherine laughs and leans back in her chair, taking another long drink from her can. “Thankfully, no. You should be able to go to class tomorrow.”

“What?” Annette looks up. “Class?”

“Of course,” Catherine replies. “You’ll still be attending the Officer’s Academy.”

Annette breathes a silent sigh of relief. Something resembling normalcy would be a great boon for her mental health right now. What she would give for a reading assignment or a lecture she could just sit in and listen. 

“I picked up your uniform the other day,” Catherine says. “It should be hanging in the closet.”

“Great,” Annette says, “Thank you.”

“You’re so polite,” Catherine teases, resting her elbow on the table. “Come on, let your hair down a bit. This is your home, too. You should relax.”

Relax, huh.

After dinner and a hot bath, Annette lays down on the bed in her underwear, lights off and window open. She slips her headphones over her ears and closes her eyes, letting the cold night air caress her damp skin, dry her matted coils of hair. She hums softly.

It’s easy to forget about everything with music. It always makes her feel better, coils around her when everything else leaves her cold and lonely. She holds the tape player gently, almost like she’s afraid it could break if she grips it too hard. Like Ingrid’s Relic, fingers wrapped around the Beast’s mask. She squeezes her eyes shut. It’s hard to shut out the blood. The musky scent of the cockpit. 

She had thought it smelled like an old library, but that didn’t seem accurate. Old, yes, but...leathery, tinged with copper. Something unlike anything else she had ever encountered. She opens her eyes. Sometimes she and Mercie would visit the stables when Sylvain was working, and the horses had a similar smell, something almost bestial…

Annette sits up.

_ MERCIE! _

She yanks her headphones off and leans off the side of the bed to rifle through her bag, digging for - aha! She pulls her cellphone out and taps it frantically. 

Dead battery. She sighs and slumps back onto the bed, covering her face with her arm.

“Tomorrow will be better,” she says softly. “Tomorrow will be better.”

RELIC: [LÚIN] - CREST OF DAPHNEL


	3. Chapter 3

Garreg Mach is bigger than Annette had been expecting.

Annette steps off the train onto the platform, smoothing out the folds in her skirt. The uniform is stiff and starchy, still smelling faintly like scented laundry detergent. She rests a hand on her messenger bag, fumbling through it for one last check - cellphone, papers, notebooks, pencil case, inhaler. She takes her headphones off, wraps the cord around her tape player, and drops it into the bag. 

Deep breaths. 

The train pulls away behind her with a hiss of pneumatic pressure and the squeal of grinding metal. She glances upwards at the academy buildings towering above her. More polished glass and metal, angular buildings jutting up over marble plazas with pristine, manicured lawns. Uniformed students doze in the shadow of trees, resting on metal planters and benches, faces buried in books and digital tablets. 

She swallows and walks down the platform steps. There’s a big campus map just by the train station, and she breathes a sigh of relief that she doesn’t have to pull out her map like...well, like the new student she is. 

It’s windy, here at the top of the mountains, and cooler, but the sun warms her face and her hair, and she can pretend, just for a little, that maybe she’s an ordinary student.

“Are you new here, too?” 

Annette yelps and turns around. “Ah, um...yes,” she blushes, tipping her face down.

“It’s okay,” a young man with messy grey hair smiles at her. “I am too.” He holds out his hand. “Ashe Ubert.”

“Annette Fantine,” Annette smiles, shaking his hand. “Whose class are you in?”

“Ah,” Ashe blushes and slings his backpack off his shoulder, fumbling through it for his guidebook. 

Annette giggles. It’s relieving to know that other people are maybe just as nervous as she is. Ashe’s uniform is modified, with what looks like a deep blue hoodie underneath his jacket.

“Um...Professor Hanneman,” Ashe says, reading off a piece of paper. 

“Oh!” Annette grins. “Me too! Do you want to walk together.”

“Sure,” Ashe nods. “I don’t really know where I’m going yet.”

“Me neither, Annette admits. “I think it’s down this way?” she points. 

It’s a beautiful, sunny morning, walking through campus, and Annette is glad to have met Ashe. Like her, he’s from Faerghus, though he’s at the academy on scholarship rather than on merit. His parents run a restaurant, which Annette is delighted to hear - if there’s one thing she can manage to pull up conversation about, it’s baking and cooking. Mercie had made sure of that. 

The broad pathways of the academy are winding, taking them up stairs and around, past a fountain and a large pool of crystal-clear water. 

“It looks like that’s the dining hall,” Ashe looks up from his student guidebook and points at a large building with sloped glass walls. “And then the classrooms are beyond th- hey, Annette, are you listening to me?”

Annette is staring up the stairs, through one of the cafeteria windows. 

Ingrid is sitting at a table, eating breakfast. 

“Uh...yeah,” Annette says, slinging her bag over her shoulder. “I’ll see you in class, okay?” 

“Yeah, of course!” Ashe smiles politely, curving his freckled cheeks. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Annette jogs up the stairs, one hand on the railing, dodging past uniformed students walking in pairs, trios, or alone, dispersing from the dining hall onto campus proper. 

“Ingrid!” she calls out over the clatter of trays and the sound of TVs playing news reports and sports games and campus announcements. “Hey, I-Ingrid!” she waves.

Ingrid is sitting alone, eating while paging through a paperback novel. There’s no sign of any of the previous day’s activities except a tired look on her face and bandages poking out from the collar of her uniform. When she reaches out to pick up a piece of fruit, Annette can see both of her hands are covered in bandages, not a bit of skin remaining.

Ingrid looks up, chewing.

Annette’s cheerful greeting evaporates. “I, uh...I wanted to check and see how you’re doing.”

“Hm?” Ingrid says through a mouthful of food. “Why?”

“Well, because...you...I mean, we…”

“I’m fine, Annette.” 

“Oh,” Annette sheepishly fusses with the strap of her messenger bag. “I just wanted to apologize for-”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Ingrid cuts her off and picks up a fork. She struggles to cut a piece of bacon into bite-sized pieces, her bandaged hands shaking. 

“I-” Annette stammers. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t bother you while you’re reading.” She bows her head slightly and ducks out. “See you later.”

Ingrid stares after her, watching her disappear out the dining hall doors. She swallows her bite. 

“I wonder what that was all about.” 

-

Annette finds a seat in the crowded lecture hall next to Ashe. 

“Hey,” she smiles, waving. “Seat taken?”

Ashe sits up. “No, go ahead,” he says, moving his bag. “Was that your friend?” 

“Um...coworker,” Annette says with uncertainty, picking up her skirt to sit. 

“Oh!” Ashe’s face lights up. “Do you have an on-campus job?”

Annette purses her lips. “Something like that.”

Ashe leans over. “She’s sitting right over there,” he whispers, pointing.

Ingrid is sitting across the lecture hall, smoothing out a notebook on her desk. A boy with dark hair and a stern expression is sitting next to her, frowning. He says something and Ingrid shakes her head. 

“She looks kind of uncomfortable,” Ashe whispers. “Should we say something?”

“I don’t know…” Annette says, watching. Ingrid’s hands curl into a fist on her notebook and she shakes her head. Her lips move silently. 

The boy makes a face and slumps back in his chair, folding his arms over his chest. The two stay like that, tense, separated, until another boy approaches - a fair-haired boy with a blue jacket tossed over one shoulder. He says something and Ingrid and the other boy both look up.

Annette’s voyeurism is cut short as the doors at the back of the room clatter open and a middle-aged man hustles down the stairs, a briefcase in hand and his long brown coat flapping behind him.

“Apologies, everyone,” he says loudly. “Apologies for my tardiness.” He drops his briefcase on the podium and turns to scribble on the whiteboard behind him. “My name…” each word punctuated with the squeak of black erasable marker. “Is Professor Hanneman. Not ‘Prof’, not ‘Hanneman’, and certainly not ‘von Essar’.”

"Considering my lateness, I think it’s time we get started,” Hanneman says, standing behind the podium and opening his briefcase. “I assume you all received copies of the syllabus via email, but I have extra copies if anyone needs one.”

Annette leans on one hand, half paying attention to the lecture. Mostly, though, her eyes are fixed on the girl sitting across from her, her fingers idly twirling her long, blonde braid as she takes notes, her green eyes fixed on the whiteboard. 

Her attention has always wandered in lectures, but today is even worse - all of the new things, the new stimulus, new people and places and ideas, and that girl. Ingrid Galatea. Relic pilot, academy student. 

How does she do it? Just ignore the things that happened just two days prior? The blood and flesh and bone and violence, and she’s taking neat notes on lined paper like a high-schooler. 

Ingrid glances up and Annette ducks her head down, cheeks burning. 

-

Annette and Ashe are chatting in the courtyard after class when Ingrid approaches her. 

“Training exercises at seventeen-hundred hours,” she says.

“O-oh,” Annette says, turning away from Ashe. “Okay.”

“Don’t be late,” Ingrid reminds her, shouldering her bag and walking away. 

And just like that, Annette’s life flips upside-down, to the other side of the coin. Everything feels dreamlike, unreal. The train station, sitting in her seat, listening to her tape player, her bag on her lap. Stopping at a government way-station. SEIROS ID card out, waved ahead. Stairs down, a freight elevator down. Through the metal bars in the elevator shaft, she can see the cavern again. SEIROS headquarters.

The elevator takes her down to the opposite side of the cavern, giving her a better look at the space they’re given - that seemingly infinite span of rock and metal and lights and wires. She steps off the elevator and follows painted signs on the green metal walls, pointing her towards the changing rooms. 

She’s not surprised by the process, this time. Stripping down is easier without time pressure, without Catherine. 

Ingrid’s locker is open, her school uniform hung up inside, a pile of hair ties sitting at the bottom, her school boots left by the bench.

Annette wrings out her hair and takes two of Ingrid’s hair ties, twisting her hair up into two little loops, like she did in high school. Better than her hair floating all around the cockpit, right? 

Black plugsuit on. 

It’s strange how quickly she adjusts to it. It fits like a glove. A full-body, leathery glove, marked with wires and plastic plates and gold accents. She stares at herself in the mirror, inhales, exhales. 

“Hey, Annette,” Catherine says, her jacket tied around her waist, a clipboard in her hands. “Good timing, Ingrid’s just getting her Relic booted up.”

And then Annette is back in the cockpit. The pinpricks of pain don’t startle her this time. Maybe it’s the heavy dose of anti-anxiety medication she wisely took before changing, and maybe it’s the sense of unreality of it all, but she feels a lot more calm.

Oh, yeah, the lack of imminent Beast attacks probably helps, too.

“Alright, Annette,” Catherine’s voice comes over the comms. “We’re going to walk you through the full boot-up sequence, okay?”

Annette nods.

“Okay, you’ll need to give us updates verbally. We can see the cockpit’s data, but not your actual movement. Understood?”

“Yes,” Annette says firmly. “Understood.”

“This is going to be a lot of information very quickly, so please speak up if there’s something you don’t understand.”

Annette laughs. They’d be there all night, if she did that.

“Right, Ingrid is waiting for you on the surface. You’re going to launch Crusher manually this time.”

“Okay,” Annette grips the control sticks tighter. She can feel the muscles in her arm tense, quickening the blood flow into the Relic.

“Are you hooked into the pilot’s seat?”

“Yes,” Annette says. She stares at the glowing monitors in front of her, already activated and showing the headquarters around her. 

“Alright,” Catherine’s voice crackles in and out. “The armrests of the pilot’s seat connect to the hematic transfer system - the Relic uses this to verify that you can pilot it. If you lack the right Crest, you’d simply bleed out into the machine.”

“Ah,” Annette says, suddenly nervous. “Crest?”

“It’s a sort of information coded into your DNA,” Cyril’s voice cuts in. “It’s loosely tied to your genetics, but from what we can tell, it’s random if any given child will inherit it from their parents.”

“So my parents had Crests?”

“Don’t know,” Cyril admits. “At least one of them must have. The blood draws you submitted along with your physical exam are what clued us into the fact that you can pilot Crusher.” He pauses for a moment and Annette can hear the rustling of papers. “The hematic transfer system, or HTS -”

“We call ‘em ‘blood wires’,” Shamir says flatly. “Don’t make her think we use all that jargon.”

“Haha, sorry, boss,” Cyril says. “It connects to that crest you see on the floor of the cockpit. That’s the Crest Stone, the core power unit for the whole Relic.”

Annette sits up, peering around the cockpit, following the wires to the Crest Stone. 

“If the cockpit is pierced, it will begin leaking, but if the Crest Stone is broken, that’s game over.”

Annette grimaces. “Like, the Relic breaks, or death?”

“Both,” Shamir says.

It’s quiet over the comms after that.

“So, don’t let that happen,” Catherine says. “Do whatever it takes to protect that core. Now, do you see the panel alongside the cockpit chair? Those marked buttons?”

Annette swivels her head. Along one side, the armrest is dotted with little plastic panels. A few switches, a few buttons, some glowing, some off. “Yeah, I see it.”

“Those control the Relic’s external functions,” Catherine says. “Ah, Shamir, this is your area of expertise, you can explain.”

“The red button is an emergency eject,” Shamir says. “Do not press it.” 

“Oh,” Catherine says. “Okay.”

Shamir continues. “The three switches next to it are the manual launch sequence - priming the power flow, releasing the safety latches, and igniting the engine. That’s what we did for you manually the other day. That’s how you’ll be exiting the SEIROS facility.”

“Do that now,” Catherine says.

Annette settles back into her seat and takes a deep breath. Okay.

She flicks the first switch and can hear generators spinning to life. She flicks the second and the Relic shifts slightly, hanging a little more loosely on its feet, supporting its own weight. 

And, launch.

Crusher exits through the hole in the top of the cave and crashes through the trees. This time, already powered up, Annette manages to land on her feet. 

“Great!” Catherine says. “Gyrofeedback looks stable, all systems at full power.”

Annette smiles. It feels good when Catherine says she did well, even if it is just praise for staying upright. She adjusts to the feeling of the cockpit shifting as Crusher moves around, its arms matching hers as she stabilizes. 

“Do you see Ingrid?” Catherine asks. “Lúin should be to the south.”

Annette hears Lúin before she sees it. A sort of ringing pulse sounds, and then she sees a flash of light. A plot of empty earth bursts into flashes of white light, and when it clears, the landscape is coated with a thick crystalline layer of ice. 

Lúin is holding a rifle when Annette approaches, and its arms shift to rest the rifle over its shoulder, casually. 

“Hey, Annette,” Ingrid says. “Glad to see you on your feet.”

“I should be saying that to _you_ ,” Annette says. Crusher leans forward. “What are you doing?”

“That patch of ground is what we call the firing range,” Catherine explains. “One of the benefits of Garreg Mach being a mountainous city is that it’s very easy to tuck things behind cliffs and mountains, out of sight. Here’s where you can practice, without fear of causing too much damage.” 

Ingrid drops the rifle into firing position and lifts it, lining up a shot. Up close, Annette can see the rifle in action. There’s a turbine at the base of the long barrel, just above what looks like a giant gun magazine. As Lúin - Ingrid - pulls the trigger, the turbine spins, charging a shot with a glow of light around the rifle. And then it pulses, splashing out a beam of light and wind followed by a trail of ice. Ingrid pulls back the bolt, expelling a smoking and spent energy cartridge from the rifle.

“That’s amazing,” Annette breathes.

“Isn’t it?” Ingrid says proudly, lifting up the rifle again. “The engineers call it Fimbulvetr.”

“It’s an ice gun,” Shamir mutters.

“Will I be using that, too?” Annette asks, Crusher’s hand reaching out curiously. 

“Not quite,” Shamir says. “You’ll be using your own weapons. Galatea should have brought them up for you.”

“Right here,” Ingrid nods, setting her rifle down in the dirt. It’s barrel is big enough to crack and splinter tree branches. Behind Lúin rests a few more weapons - the same glowing lance Ingrid had wielded against the Demonic Beast, now powered down; another rifle, this one shorter and sleeker; and a metal hilt with a smooth handgrip. 

Annette maneuvers Crusher past Lúin and bends over to peer at the weapons. 

“You’ll be using these two,” Ingrid explains, pointing to the rifle and the bladeless hilt. “All of these weapons are designed specifically as anti-beast weapons, so you’ll be using this,” she picks up the hilt and hands it to Annette.

Crusher’s fingers slip and the heavy piece of metal clatters to the ground.

“S-sorry,” Annette mutters, kneeling over. “Still getting used to it.” She picks up the hilt and grips it. 

“The engineers call it Dust,” Cyril says over the comms. “If you press the button at the top of the hilt grip, it forms a blunt energy weapon to smash through the Beast’s barriers.”

There’s some soft murmuring over the comms, whispers Annette can almost hear.

“Ingrid, explain barriers,” Catherine says. 

“The Demonic Beasts are all protected by energy fields,” Ingrid says, picking up her lance. “They can’t be hurt until those barriers are pierced or broken - and when they are, the Beasts tend to go-”

“Berserk,” Catherine suggests.

“They can gain additional defenses,” Shamir corrects.

“So we have to shatter their barriers and kill the Beast itself,” Annette nods. She points at the other rifle. “What’s that?”

“Your rifle is Abraxas,” Ingrid says, picking it up gingerly and passing it to Annette. “Please be careful, these are very expensive.”

Annette can feel the weight of the gun in Crusher’s hands. She adjusts her fingers, one hand supporting the barrel and the other wrapping around the trigger. She had done live-fire exercises before, of course, but her use of guns never extended beyond the firing range. She hopes Crusher’s hands aren’t shaking the way her own are. 

“My weapon, Fimbulvetr, is designed to slow and freeze the beasts to give us more time to attack,” Ingrid says, hefting her rifle. “Yours, on the other hand, deals energy damage in a single blast. It needs to cool down between discharges, so you need to time your shots well.” 

“Okay,” Annette says.

“Go ahead and fire it downrange,” Ingrid says, stepping Lúin back to give Annette some space. 

Annette lifts the rifle and braces it against Crusher’s shoulder. Deep breaths. She’s fired a rifle before.

Usually with muffling headphones and safety glasses, sure, and with an instructor watching her and commenting on her form. It’s perhaps a far cry from standing in the foggy mountains, a laser rifle trained on a empty patch of scorched earth, inside a giant pile of metal and wires that seems like it should barely be standing.

Annette takes another breath. She can feel the weight of the rifle against her.

The rifle bucks back when she pulls the trigger, knocking her shoulder back and sending the barrel pointing off. A beam of light emanates from the rifle and collides with a mountainside, splintering the rocks and trees into pieces, leaving a smoking crater in its wake. 

“AH!” Annette shouts. “Sorry!”

Abraxas’ barrel smokes, the base glowing orange. 

No one speaks. 

“Annette, you’re supposed to rest it on cover to fire,” Catherine breathes out. 

Ingrid laughs. “Holy shit, can you just carry it like that?”

Annette laughs, too, lowering her rifle. “I...I don’t know.”

“Try to fire again, this time compensating for the recoil,” Catherine says. “Next charge is ready to fire in forty-five seconds.”

“Give me a minute to run some programs,” Cyril says. “If I have a video record of it, we can maybe put a reticle in your heads-up display next time.” 

Annette lifts the rifle again, trying to brace it better. 

“Okay,” Cyril says. “Try to aim below your target. Recoil will offset your aim by about 37%.”

Annette tilts the barrel down. 

“Alright, it’s charged,” Catherine says. “Fire it again.”

Lúin steps to Crusher’s side. “Do you see that outcropping of rocks down at the end of the range?” Ingrid asks. 

Annette nods, Crusher’s face brushing the stock of her rifle. 

“Try to hit that. It’s the furthest point in a straight line and is roughly the size of a Beast.”

Annette holds her breath and pulls the trigger. 

The gun bucks again, and a burst of light flashes at the end of the firing range. Then a ball of fire erupts outwards, sending a plume of black smoke coiling into the sky.

Annette droops forward, her rifle’s barrel digging into the dirt to support the weight of Crusher leaning against it. 

“You hit it,” Catherine says. “You actually hit it.”

No one else speaks.

Annette breathes out, slumping back in the cockpit chair, drained. Her arms ache.

“Good work, Annette,” a stern voice cuts over the comms.

Annette bolts upright. _That voice_ …

“Oh-” Catherine’s voice crackles. “Commander Dominic, I didn’t realize you were there.”

-

Annette sits on the cold wooden bench in the locker room, staring at her hands.

Beside her, Ingrid shimmies out of her plugsuit. “You okay?” she asks, holding up the front of her suit by the inside. 

“Yeah,” Annette says, looking up. “I can feel my teeth vibrating.”

Ingrid laughs. “Yeah, that doesn’t really go away, but you get used to it.” She lets her plugsuit drape around her waist.

Annette blushes and tucks her face into her shoulder, looking away. Even in the split-second glance, she could see the bandages wrapped around Ingrid’s torso, her shoulder, her collar. A few pale, jagged scars in the flesh not covered by blotted red gauze. 

Ingrid grimaces and prods her side. “Ugh, I think some of my wounds opened up.”

Annette rests her hands in her lap and stares at the tile floor. “Do you need help?” she asks automatically. Her eyes widen and her blush deepens. “I-I mean-” she stammers, looking up. 

Ingrid stands above her, arms crossed over her bandaged chest, her hair untied and splayed out behind her. “It’s okay,” she sits next to Annette. “I can do it myself.”

“Ingrid…”

“I’m okay, really,” she bends down to tug the legs of her plugsuit off, loses her balance, and bangs her head on her locker. “Ah, shit!” she mutters. Things scatter from her locker door, magnets skittering along the tile and dropping a few papers and cards. 

Thankful to have a task to keep her gaze from Ingrid’s bare legs, Annette leaps to her feet to help collect the mess. She picks up some scattered papers - things she recognizes as school papers, an expired plastic ID card - Ingrid Brandl Galatea, Crest of Daphnel - and a stiff piece of cardstock. Annette frowns and turns it over.

It’s a photo. A real, physical photo is a strange thing to see these days. 

It’s a picture of Ingrid - a younger Ingrid, maybe, her hair still up in a braid, a smile gracing her face, her green eyes sparkling and reflecting the sun. She’s standing between two boys - the stern-looking boy from class, earlier, and another boy with the same dark shade of blue hair. The other one is a little taller, his arm around Ingrid’s shoulder, a grin on his sort of roguish face.

Annette kneels on the tile and stares at the photograph. 

Ingrid snatches the photo away. “Thanks,” she says quietly, finishing gathering up her things. 

-

Annette sighs as she stands outside Catherine’s apartment door. Catherine herself couldn’t take Annette home because of - unsurprisingly - work, so Annette went out and met with Ashe for dinner. It was nice to be free of obligations, free of the pressure and surreality of everything else. Though it was hard to dodge his questions.

 _What do you do_? It’s a part time job for the academy. 

_Yeah, but like, what do you do_? I can’t tell you.

 _Why not?_ I...don’t know.

At least Ashe never pressed the subject. 

She fumbles for the key Catherine had given her - another plastic card, sort of like a hotel keycard. Garreg Mach, the city of the future - they sure loved their plastic cards here. She slips it through the lock and steps into the quiet apartment. 

“I’m home,” she says aloud to the emptiness. She flicks on a light and kicks her boots off at the door. 

The fridge is all takeout leftovers. She sighs and closes the door, thankful she got dinner with Ashe. She leaves her schoolbag on the table and sighs, putting her headphones on and clicking play on her tape player.

Catherine’s balcony, like the rest of her apartment, is rather sparse - a laundry rack, empty, and two deck chairs at odd angles. An ashtray filled with cigarette butts. Annette sighs and sits in one of the deck chairs, staring out at the city.

Her ears still ring, but her hands stopped shaking. Catherine had told her that holding the rifle instead of propping it up against something drew more blood than she was supposed to lose - she couldn’t fire it too much before blacking out. 

Annette stares at the buildings and the twinkling neon lights, wondering what would happen if that burst of light she caused in the mountains happened in a city? What would it do to a building, or a train car? She closes her eyes and turns her music up, not standing up until the tape clicks, whirrs, and the player beeps at her. She sighs, stands, and takes her headphones off.

The apartment is still quiet and empty as she steps around the living room to grasp the handle of her bedroom door.

Tomorrow will be better, she thinks, sliding the door open. 

Someone is lying prone in Annette’s bed. A softly snoring lump of blankets and tangled hair, soft yellow in the moonlight streaming in from the open window. The curtains blow in with the breeze, and in shafts of light Annette can see bandages snaking up the body’s arms as they curl around a pillow, clutching tightly. 

Annette shuts the door. Couch tonight, then.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette meets her roommate, learns hand-to-hand combat, and prepares for her first real battle against a Demonic Beast.

Catherine stands in the darkness, one hand resting in her pocket, fingers loosely draped around the handle of a pistol. It always makes her nervous, being here.

“Catherine,” comes a soft voice. 

“Director,” Catherine tips her head down, half-bowing. 

“The new pilot is performing well.”

Catherine nods. She’s facing a digital display, though no figure is on it. Just audio bars, modulating up and down based on the voice of her contact. “Yes,” she says. “Dominic shows a lot of promise.”

It smells musty here, like blood and bone and dust. She can feel warmth, too, like something alive lurks in the abyss. The digital display flickers, audio levels spiking.

“You are gathering data, I would assume.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Catherine nods. “The engineers are collating her synchronization data now. You’ll be sent the full report as soon as it's finished.”

“Good,” the director says. “Very good. And progress on the Sword?”

“It’s going slowly,” Catherine admits. “We just don’t have the data for it. We need more combat records, more vital data, more physical exams...we’re just not making the progress we want to be.”

“That’s not good enough. You’re spending too much time on your little side-project.”

“I know,” Catherine says. “I know.” She inhales. “We’ll do more synchronization tests.”

“Dominic is too inexperienced.”

“Galatea will do it.”

“Good.”

Catherine chews the inside of her lip nervously. “Director…”

“Yes?”

“I wanted to ask you about Commander Dominic,” Catherine says carefully. “What has he told her?”

“About the project? Nothing,” the director replies confidently. “He has been estranged for nearly a decade. She doesn’t know anything about the project. And it will remain that way.”

“Of course,” Catherine says dutifully. 

The display shuts off, plunging Catherine back into darkness.

-

Annette blinks blearily and sits up. She rubs her eyes, the morning light harsh to her sleepy senses. Her blanket pools around her waist and she realizes she must have fallen asleep in her school uniform. She sighs and presses down some wrinkles. She sniffs.

Catherine lays on the floor, one arm over her face, a pile of crushed beer cans around her. She’s breathing - Annette was a little worried about that - but motionless, her exhales punctuated by the occasional snort.

There’s a sound of activity, movement, a clatter and scrape of metal, and Annette swivels her head. 

Ingrid stands over the stove, crackings eggs into a bowl and whisking them together. She moves with deliberateness - calculated, comfortable. Her hair is down, messy and unkempt, draped over a tank top that shows the extent of the bandages along her arms, almost up to her elbows, covering her torso to her neck. The bandages are clean and fresh, not a hint of the seeping red Annette had seen the night before.

Annette opens her mouth to speak, but can’t think of the words.

Ingrid pours her bowl of eggs into a hot pan and is greeted with a sizzle. 

It’s easier to just sit and watch her make breakfast than it is to try and figure out what exactly to say, but the smell of cooking breakfast seems to stir something in Catherine.

She groans and sits up with a sound of scattering aluminum cans. 

“Do you want oatmeal?” Ingrid says, turning away from her pan. She makes eye contact with Annette, peering over the edge of the couch.

Both of them freeze.

“Shit,” Catherine mutters, laying down again. “I knew I was forgetting something I needed to tell you.”

Ingrid frowns. “Why are you here?” 

“Your eggs are burning,” Annette says, deftly dodging the question. 

“Oh, shit,” Ingrid curses, turning her attention back to the pan and giving Annette enough time to scrape her drowsy morning senses to attention. Annette pushes her blanket off her legs and yawns before helping Catherine up. 

“Sorry,” Catherine says again, rubbing her forehead. “Ah, Ingrid, you’ll be having a roommate from now on.”

Ingrid turns the heat down on the stove and scrapes her scrambled eggs onto a plate. 

“Ingrid?”

“I heard you,” Ingrid sets the plate to the side and begins fixing Catherine’s breakfast. “Annette, do you want something?”

“Anything is fine,” Annette says nervously, folding her blanket up and setting it on the back of the couch. “Thank you.”

“Make her oatmeal,” Catherine says, sitting at the table. “She needs protein.” She rubs her temples again. “There are iron supplements in the medicine cabinet, make sure you take some.”

“Out too late with Shamir again?” Ingrid teases, pouring some instant oatmeal into a bowl. 

Catherine shakes her head. “Unfortunately, no. We were both working too late.” She sits up. “Ingrid, are you okay to come in again today? Cyril wants to collect synchronization data.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ingrid says, putting the oatmeal in the microwave. 

Annette watches the movement of her bandaged hands. “I can do it,” she volunteers. “I know you’re still h-”

“I’m fine,” Ingrid repeats insistently. “Besides, you’ve only piloted twice. Your sync rate will be negligible.” 

“Oh.” 

Ingrid finishes preparing breakfast by opening the cupboard and pulling out a plastic container of protein powder before dumping a scoop into each bowl. She tosses them on the table and sits to eat her own eggs. 

Catherine stirs hers and Annette follows suit, unsure what else to do. It tastes gritty and artificially-sweet. 

“Protein and iron are critical,” Ingrid explains through a mouthful of breakfast. “Piloting drains a lot of blood, so eating restorative food is really important.”

“Oh,” Annette says. She stares at her hand, holding a spoon, with little red marks on her wrist. 

They eat breakfast in silence, just the scrape of silverware on hard plastic dishware. 

-

Annette sits on the train and Ingrid stands, one hand on the handrail and the other holding her paperback book, her thumb pressed against the spine to keep the pages flat. Annette’s tape player clicks. 

She still isn’t quite sure what to talk about, and she doesn’t want to interrupt Ingrid when she’s reading, but she has so many questions. About the Relics, about SEIROS, about Catherine, but she’s still reeling from realizing whose dirty clothes she had haphazardly piled in the corner of her room. No,  _ their  _ room?

Catherine had promised to buy Annette a futon later that week. Just a few days of sleeping on the couch and then she’d have something like a real bed.

The train rattles and blows past buildings, diving towards the academy. 

Annette sighs and takes her headphones off, clicking her tape player off as they near the station. 

Ingrid looks up. “You need to be careful who you talk to, Annette.”

“What? Why?”

“You signed an NDA, right?” 

Annette frowns and considers it. “I think one was in the folder of paperwork Catherine gave me.”

Ingrid nods and shuts her book. “You can talk to Catherine and me about it at home, but otherwise, this is meant to be covert.”

“Okay.”

Annette breathes a silent prayer of thanks that Ashe is waiting at the foot of the platform stairs. He waves good morning to her and Annette takes the opportunity to step away from Ingrid. 

“Hey, Ashe!” Annette smiles. “Good morning.”

“Good morning,” Ashe says. “How was work last night?”

Annette freezes. “W-work?”

“Yeah,” Ashe says. “You left right after class let out.”

“Oh!” Annette lets out a breath. “Yeah, it was...it was good.”

“I’m glad.” 

It’s a quiet morning on campus, a slight haze hovering around the tops of the buildings. Clouds come and go quickly up in the mountains. 

Ashe and Annette walk together to class, study together in the cafeteria.

“You’re looking at her again,” Ashe says, looking up from his textbook. 

The dining hall is warmed by sunlight from the wide windows, keeping the cool mountain air at bay. It makes Annette sleepy, and she dozes on her book, gazing at Ingrid sitting across the hall with her friends.

“Do you know who that blue-haired guy is?” Annette asks sleepily, pushing herself up. She blinks at her textbook and sheepishly wipes a small blot of drool with her sleeve.

“I don’t think so,” Ashe shook his head. “Professor Hanneman called on him and said ‘Fraldarius’, but the name isn’t familiar.”

“Mm,” Annette intones in agreement. “Sure seems like they’re together a lot.”

“Hm, him and Ingrid?” 

“Yeah.”

Ashe grins playfully. “Aw, is someone jealous?”

“No!” Annette protests, scowling. “I just wonder.”

“Not everyone’s like us, you know,” Ashe says, picking up half of his sandwich and biting into it. “Some people actually come here with friends, amazingly.”

That’s a foreign concept to Annette - at a school with such astronomically high standards, it was sheer chance she was accepted at all.

No, not chance, she thinks, gazing at her hands. If she closes her eyes, she can still hear ringing in her ears. 

“Speak of the devil,” Ashe says, closing his book and standing up. “Looks like she’s coming to say hi.” 

“Wait, don’t leave-” Annette protests, but her plea comes too late. Ashe had already picked up his tray and bookbag and departed from the table. Annette sighs and stares at her textbook, trying to watch Ingrid approach with her peripheral vision.

What was she going to do? Scold Annette for looking at her? Give her more bad news, another work assignment?

“Annette,” Ingrid says.

“Hey,” Annette forces a polite smile. 

“I was wondering if you were busy after class this afternoon.”

“Yeah, I am, but...don’t you have work tonight?” Annette closes her book. 

“I do, but I want to do some training with you first. Pick up a uniform and meet me at the gym at three, okay?” 

“I don’t know,” Annette says weakly. “Ashe and I were going to visit that new pop-up shop along the river…”

“This training is crucial,” Ingrid says. “I would really appreciate it if you would come.” 

“I don’t even know where to get a uniform,” Annette says, and it’s the truth. She hasn’t visited the school shop yet. She’d need to check a map to see where it even  _ is _ . 

Ingrid smiles. “You can borrow mine, I have an extra.”

-

Annette sits on a wooden bench and stares at the bank of changing room lockers, unable to ward off the sense of familiar anxiety growing in the pit of her stomach.

Beside her, Ingrid rifles through her bag. “Here you go,” she says, passing Annette a pair of athletic shorts and a mint-green tank top. “I’d offer my spare sports bra, but I...don’t think you’d want to wear that, huh.”

“Ahah,” Annette laughs nervously, taking the gym uniform. 

“Have you done combat training before, Annette?” Ingrid asks, pulling her shirt off over her shoulders. 

Not a woman with qualms about her body being seen, it seems. 

“A bit,” Annette says, sheepishly tugging her shirt off. “I did some hand-to-hand exercises in basic, along with some of the firearms training.”

“Good, then you’ll have a basis for what we’re practicing today,” Ingrid says, as Annette tries very hard not to stare at her bare skin.

They dress quickly and head out into the gymnasium. It’s a wide building, largely empty with a few spaces devoted to different exercises. In one corner is a roped-off arena, with a soft floor and a rack of padded helmets and gloves.

There are a few other students scattered here and there, and Annette and Ingrid wait for their turn, watching two fighters sparring in the ring. 

One of them yanks her helmet off and long, orange hair spills out as she picks up a water bottle and washes the sweat from her face. “Good fight,” she says, holding out her gloved hand to the other fighter. The other, a much larger, muscular man, laughs and shakes her hand. “You always put up a good fight, Leonie.” 

Ingrid helps Annette put on her gloves and straps training pads to her own forearms. 

“We’re just going to go over some basic exercises today, okay?” She and Annette climb under the ropes and into the arena.

The floor is springy, soft, and Annette’s headgear limits her vision, but she feels confident. At least if she messes up now, she won’t cost a ton of money or bleed out. She’ll probably just sprain something.

“Okay, come at me,” Ingrid drops low, bouncing on her legs. “Just throw some punches.”

Annette was never great at the physical side of combat. Her swings are ineffectual, misdirected. Ingrid doesn’t even need to block - she just side-steps, dodges. 

“Come on!” Ingrid shouts, pounding one hand against one of the training pads. “Faster!”

Annette grits her teeth and lunges, throwing a punch. Her glove connects with Ingrid’s pad with a solid thump. Annette follows up with her other hand, trying to deliver a pummeling blow. She’s too slow, though, and Ingrid steps aside.

“Okay,” Ingrid says, stepping back and unstrapping her pads. “I’m going to put on some gloves and teach you some moves, if that’s okay.”

“Haha, yeah, sorry,” Annette bends over, resting on her knees. “I haven’t actually done any sparring.”

What Ingrid lacks in professionality she makes up for in exuberance - she pushes Annette hard and fast, until Annette is gasping for breath and sitting in a pool of her own sweat in the corner of the ring. The two of them trade blows, Ingrid shouting taunts and encouragement in equal measure. Ingrid’s punches are solid and painful, but Annette can tell they’re pulled. 

The skylight above changes from bright late-afternoon blue to the deep yellow hues of evening, set to a chorus of muffled blows and muttered grunts. 

“You’re doing well,” Ingrid says, squatting at Annette’s side and unscrewing the lid of a reusable water bottle. 

Annette’s somewhat relieved to see Ingrid is drenched in sweat, too. She’s not such a pushover that Ingrid isn’t putting any effort into the battle. Ingrid wipes her brow and passes Annette the water bottle, which she gratefully accepts.

“You’re…” Annette gasps between gulps. “R-really strong.”

“I had brothers...and my only friends were boys growing up,” Ingrid laughs, sitting down heavily and resting on her knees. “Taking and throwing punches is a rite of passage for pre-teen boys, I think.” 

“Yeah, I’d believe it.”

Ingrid pats Annette’s sweaty shoulder. “Really, though, you did good. You’ve got a long way to go, but…”

“There’s some hope yet?” Annette grins, wiping her own face. 

“Yeah…” Ingrid’s voice trails off, her eyes gazing past Annette and towards the entrance to the gym. “Hey, Annette, do you know her?” 

“Who?” Annette turns, following Ingrid’s gaze.

At the entrance to the gym, in a black uniform with a jacket draped over her shoulders, stands a woman with tousled green hair and wide, staring eyes. 

Annette shakes her head and averts her gaze.

“She’s been watching us for almost half an hour,” Ingrid says, pushing herself to her feet. 

“Huh.”

When Annette looks up again, the woman is gone.

“So,” Ingrid offers her hand and Annette takes it, letting Ingrid pull her to her feet. “Same time tomorrow?”

-

The adaptability of the human spirit is incredible. Annette settles into a new rhythm, a new pattern. She sleeps on the couch, she wakes up, Ingrid makes breakfast. Train to school, meeting Ashe, class, lunch, class, sparring. Work, sometimes - because that’s all it is, really. Work. A part-time job. She puts on a uniform and she listens to her supervisors and she goes home in the evening. Homework, bath, bedtime. 

Catherine doesn’t keep her promise of getting a futon later in the week, and Annette gets the sense that she’s not a woman to keep promises. 

But it’s okay. Everything is...okay, at least. She listens to her tape player and rides the train around town and sits out on Catherine’s balcony to watch the city lights turn on, watching the sun pass above Garreg Mach in its cycles - day, night, day, night. School, work, school, work. 

Annette grows used to the feeling of Crusher, the feeling of moving its colossal limbs, to manipulating its fingers, grasping weapons, guns, manipulating objects. Cyril finishes his program that projects a reticle onto Annette’s cockpit screen. 

Life goes on. 

Annette sits on the bench in the locker room, unbuttoning her school uniform. “Ingrid, can I ask something?” 

Ingrid sits next to her and tugs her boots off. “Sure.”

“Who is that boy that I see you with, sometimes?” Annette asks. She doesn’t want to say  _ the mean-looking one _ , so she substitutes. “The one with the dark hair. Something Fraldarius?”

Ingrid’s hands freeze on her boot laces. The tensing of muscle isn’t too brief for Annette to notice. It’s like a flinch more than anything else.

“His name is Felix,” Ingrid says, looking up. Her hands are healed, now, unbandaged and pale. “He and I have been friends since we were kids.”

“What about that other guy?”

“Who, Dimitri?” Ingrid gestures to her hair. “Tall blonde guy?”

“No, the other one in that picture in your locker. He looks kinda like Felix.”

Ingrid is silent. 

“I’m sorry,” Annette says, scooting back. “I didn’t mean-”

“It’s okay,” Ingrid says, standing up and finishing undressing. “His name was Glenn.”

The two of them get ready in silence, Annette unsure what to say. Ingrid’s movements seem stiff, harsh, like her mood suddenly flipped. Annette makes a mental note not to bring it up again. 

The two of them walk together to the main bay of the cavern - someone had been doing more work and finished spray painting stenciled lettering on some of the green metal hallways. Main Dock, proclaimed the stencil as they stepped through. 

The dock is bustling with activity. Catherine is the first to look up and see the two pilots on the platform high above. She waves.

“Come down, quickly!” she shouts. “We’ve got a situation.”

Annette’s heart pulses in her chest, thumping against her ribcage. A situation could only mean one thing. 

Shamir and Cyril both sit at the bank of computers, muttering to each other, frantically pecking at keys. Annette watches their screens, trying to make sense of all the readouts - a lot of numbers, a lot of solid colors and measurements and lettering she doesn’t understand. 

“Fifteen minutes to contact,” Shamir says at last, sitting up. “Catherine, get the pilots-” she turns around and realizes Annette has been watching her. “Oh! Pilot, get ready for launch.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annette nods. She turns to get Ingrid’s attention and freezes.

Gilbert and Ingrid are chatting about something in their own corner of the command center. 

Annette curls her hands into fists.

“Your performance has been good,” Gilbert nods. “But SEIROS demands perfection.”

“Of course, sir,” Ingrid nods.

“We’ll be collecting more synchronization data today. Be careful.”

“Yes, sir.”

“And Ingrid, about the other pilot - “

“Ingrid, Shamir told us to get ready to launch,” Annette butts in, trying very hard not to look at Gilbert. She doesn’t care. She doesn’t care what he thinks about her.

“Oh, Annette!” Ingrid’s face brightens. “Yes, of course. Let’s go.” 

She turns around before they leave, addressing Gilbert one last time. “You may be my superior, but Catherine’s orders override yours. Remember that.”

Annette sighs as the two of them make the trek towards the towering Relics. “What was that all about?” she asks.

“More SEIROS weirdness,” Ingrid confesses. “They’ve been trying to record a lot of pilot data, and I guess the director is viewing Beast attacks as a way to get accurate combat figures.”

Annette makes a face. “Of course.”

Ingrid adjusts her gauntlets as they walk. “I’m not going to pry, but...you don’t seem to get along well with your father.”

Annette stops and Ingrid turns to face her. “As far as I’m concerned,” Annette mutters, squeezing her balled fists, “that man stopped being my father when he left me and my mother.”

Ingrid’s face doesn’t change. “Regardless, you must understand that he has a mission, just like us.”

“I don’t care,” Annette says, staring at the ground. “You heard how he talked to you, there - does he even think of you as a person? He and the director, both…”

“Thinks of me as a person...?” Ingrid frowns. “Why does that matter? Don’t you understand how hard your father works? To protect this city? To protect all of us?” 

“He’s  _ not _ my father.”

Annette stares at Ingrid’s eyes, both of them tense. Their standoff is resolved by Catherine approaching, a lit cigarette dangling from her lips and a clipboard in her hands. 

“There you two are,” she exhales. “They want you up there in less than ten minutes.”

“Of course, ma’am,” Ingrid says, standing stiffly at attention.

“We were just going to our Relics,” Annette explains.

“Good,” Catherine takes the cigarette from her lips with her free hand and sighs. “Ingrid, Lúin is-”

“Wired for data collection, I know,” Ingrid nods. “Commander Dominic already talked to me.”

“Good,” Catherine says. “Good - oh, Annette, hold on a second!” she calls after Annette as she paces away. 

“What?” Annette scowls, still tense with anger. 

“I just wanted to say good luck,” Catherine says, sticking her clipboard under one arm. “This will be your first real encounter since...well, you know.”

“I know,” Annette says. “Thank you.”

“Abraxas is primed and charged,” Catherine says as they walk towards Crusher. “It’s in Crusher’s back holster. Your close-quarters weapon is at Crusher’s hips, there,” she says, pointing up at the towering Relic. “Do you see that release switch on the side? That’ll unlatch it, but hopefully you won’t need to use it. 

Annette frowns and peers into the darkness beyond Crusher. “Ma’am,” she asks tentatively. 

“Make it quick, you need to move out.”

“What is that?” Annette asks, pointing. 

Beyond Crusher, in a third Relic bay, sits a half-finished carcass of stone and wire and steel. Leathery flesh connects its joints like half-rotted tendons, its angular head tilted downwards. The center torso plate is cracked, exposing the bottom corner of a metal ribcage. 

“Is that...another Relic?” 

“We can talk about it when you get back,” Catherine says, patting her shoulder. “Get hooked up.”

-

Crusher kneels in the dirt, its head tilted to align with an electronic scope mounted to the back of Abraxas. One half of Annette’s viewscreen is through the scope, the other a real-time feed of her surroundings. The mountains are misty, the sky grey. Clouds drift over the rocky crags and forest groves. At her side she can see Lúin crouched behind a rock ridge, making adjustments to Fimbulvetr’s barrel. She pulls back the bolt and examines the side of the gun.

“See anything?” Ingrid asks.

“Not yet,” Annette sweeps the scope over the horizon. 

“Command?” Ingrid checks in.

“Thirty seconds to contact,” Catherine reads.

“How is that possible?” Ingrid asks. “It should be in view by now.” 

“Twenty seconds.”

“I don’t see anything,” Annette repeats, pulling back from the scope. “There’s no movement in the mountains.”

“Maybe the fog is hiding it,” Ingrid muses. 

“It’d show up in Abraxas’ thermals,” Shamir corrects. “Ten seconds.”

Annette grips Abraxas’ stock, squeezing her hands around Crusher’s control stick. 

“Contact,” Shamir says.

Annette exhales. 

“Where-” Ingrid pushes Lúin to its feet, its head jutting up from behind the ridge that served as its cover. 

There’s an ear-splitting screech as a Demonic Beast dives down from the sky and slams into Lúin’s torso, sending Ingrid scraping backward along the rock. 

“Up!” Ingrid shouts, wrestling to get control of her weapon. 

Annette scrambles to her feet and swings the barrel of her rifle around, hitting a button on her control stick to call up her rifle’s auto-locking system. A targeting reticle appears in the center of her view and she rotates, trying to find the beast.

“I don’t see it,” she reports. “It must have gone back into the fog.”

“Did you see that?” Ingrid asks, grunting as Lúin pushes itself to its feet. “It had wings.” 

“A flying beast…” Catherine says over the comms. 

Another screech and the Beast dives out of the clouds, this time slamming into Crusher. Its fingers latch onto the Relic’s shoulders, clawing and shredding at its head and chest. 

Annette cries out and drops her rifle, scrabbling at the beast with her hands.

Her viewport is nothing but black leathery wings and bony claws. The Beast pulls back and Annette can see its golden mask - a sharp beak and the same wide, carven eyes. The Beast rams the cockpit with its beak.

Annette cries out, scrambling to maintain control of her Relic while her screens flicker in and out of focus with damage. A crack spiderwebs across one display.

“Annette!” Ingrid cries, lunging at her. She raises Fimbulvetr and squeezes off a shot. 

A pulse of energy hits the Beast and knocks it free of Crusher’s body, its claws taking chunks of metal and stone with it. Thick red liquid leads down its torso.

“Are you okay, Annette?” Ingrid asks, kneeling in front of her and pulling back the bolt on her gun. She ejects a spent cartridge and loads another.

“Yeah,” Annette breathes, fumbling for the controls. “C-cockpit integrity at 82%,” she says. “Reinforcing sealant now.” She presses a button along her control panel and squeezes the control sticks. 

“Everyone okay?” Catherine says.

“Yeah, we’re good up here,” Ingrid reports, scanning the fog. She frowns. 

“Where did it go?” 

“I...I don’t see it, either,” Annette says, reaching down to pick up her rifle from its bed on a crushed stand of trees. “Anything from your end, command?” 

“Energy readings north,” Shamir says.

“Shit,” Catherine mutters. “It’s heading for the city.” There’s a sound of static crackling as she grabs the comms headset from Shamir. 

“Both of you, after it! We can’t let it reach Garreg Mach!” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette and Ingrid are tasked with defeating a Demonic Beast without causing too much damage to the city. Catherine takes on public relations duty, and Annette finally confronts her father.

The afternoon sun glints off the shining silver towers of Garreg Mach. The surrounding mountains are bathed in mist, but here around the summit, the sky is clear and blue. A siren rings out, warbling above quiet, empty streets. 

The train sits parked in the empty station. Cars are haphazardly parked along the street, some jutting out into the road. There is no movement except the flutter of unconcerned birds.

There’s a crash of trees as two Relics vault over a ridge and into the outer edge of the city. Lúin’s feet screech to a stop on asphalt as the Relic crashes through cords of powerlines. The emergency siren cuts out.

“We’re at the power plant,” Ingrid reports over her comms. “Ah, sorry about the damage-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Catherine says back. “The priority is stopping the beast.”

Annette steps Crusher over the power plant’s fence and awkwardly maneuvers around generators, wires, and metal towers. She holds Abraxas up like she’s keeping it above the lapping waves of the sea. 

“Do you see anything?” she asks nervously.

Ingrid lowers her rifle and scans the horizon. “There’s no way we beat it here. Command, any guidance?”

“Nothing’s showing up on the power grid,” Shamir says. “Except your little collision, there.”

“I said sorry,” Ingrid says, climbing over the power plant’s fence and stepping into the broad, paved street. She holds her gun up and at the ready as she scans the channels of streets, narrow alleyways of visibility between the sparkling buildings. “Annette, watch my back.”

“Okay,” Annette nods, holding her rifle up and following close behind. Her arms are starting to ache from twisting the control sticks. “Maybe it’s hiding.”

“Why would it be hiding?” Ingrid frowns, exhaling a cloud of bubbles into her cockpit. “They’re mindless beasts, I don’t think they’re smart enough for...tactics.”

“Don’t underestimate your enemy,” Catherine warns. “Besides, this is the first time we’ve seen one with wings.”

_ Wings... _ Annette hums thoughtfully. She lifts her rifle and scans the city skyline with the thermal scope. “Ingrid.”

“Hm?”

“Do you see that building? The tall one, with the radio tower on top?”

“I see it.”

“I think it’s behind it,” Annette says, tightening her grip on the rifle’s stock. “I saw some heat around the edge.”

Ingrid nods and moves Lúin at a half-crouch, trying to stay in cover behind the buildings. She steps on a car and crunches it. “Sorry,” she whispers again.

“It’s fine,” Catherine says. “Why are you whispering?”

“It’s moving!” Annette shouts. 

The beast climbs around the corner of the distant building, it’s golden mask poking curiously around the edges, looking inside the windows. 

Annette squeezes off a shot.

A blast of energy erupts at the Beast’s feet, blasting it off the side of the building in a cloud of fire and shattered glass.

“Hit it!” Ingrid shouts, holstering her rifle over Lúin’s shoulder and drawing her lance. She breaks into a sprint, kicking aside parked cars and telephone poles as she scrambles around a row of apartment buildings. 

The Beast howls and takes off again, its black wings flapping as it takes to the sky. 

Annette grits her teeth and checks her cockpit’s digital readout. “How long until recharge?” 

“Ten seconds,” Catherine reports back. “Try to keep your eyes on it. 

Annette follows behind Ingrid, slower, rifle raised and trained on the monster as it writhes and rakes its black claws across buildings, sending glass and debris showering the street below. 

Ingrid lifts Lúin’s arms to block the rain, grimacing as the Beast flaps away. “It’s toying with us,” she grunts. 

“So much for not being intelligent,” Annette says, squeezing off another shot. Abraxas misses and vaporizes the top of an office building.

“Please try not to cause too much damage,” Cyril says nervously. 

“Contact!” Ingrid shouts, digging Lúin’s hands into a building and scrambling up it to stand on the roof, leaving a trail of smashed handprints trailing up the windows. She sheathes her lance and scrambles to draw her rifle and fire off a shot. A pulse of energy slams into the beast, crackling and sparking against its golden barrier field.

“Shit!” Ingrid swears, expelling her spent cartridge. 

The shot stuns the Beast, sending it crashing into an apartment building. 

Catherine sighs over the headset. “Can you try to draw it away from a residential neighborhood, at least?” 

“Please don’t destroy any hospitals,” Cyril says weakly.

“Time?” Annette asks.

“Fifteen seconds. Try to get closer.” 

Crusher sprints down the channel of a broad street, each step shaking the cars. She vaults over a pedestrian footbridge and smashes Crusher’s foot into the squirming, stunned Beast. Crusher’s foot bounces off its barrier.

“Barrier’s still up, Annette,” Ingrid says, aiming her rifle. 

The Beast scrambles to its feet and lunges at Annette, claws slashing Crusher’s chest-plate. It rakes across the stone and flesh, drawing a fountain of thick red that splatters across the street.

“Cockpit integrity 61%,” Cyril warns. “You need to be more careful.”

“I know,” Annette exhales, her chest heaving. “I know.” 

Ingrid leaps down from her perch and pulses off another shot that collides with the beast. Cracks spread along its barrier before the gold shield fades away again. 

“The barrier is almost down,” she says, reloading. 

The Beast takes off again, diving around a street corner. 

“I’ll take point,” Ingrid says, shouldering her rifle and dashing after it. “Stay far enough away that you can line up a shot.”

Annette nods and follows behind. She can feel her vision blurring and shakes her head. How many times did Catherine say she could fire Abraxas before losing too much blood? She stares nervously at the wires spilling out from the cockpit chair. Still red, so she’s not dry yet. She grits her teeth and raises Abraxas. 

“Watch your vitals,” Catherine says calmly. “You’re doing okay, Annette, but you can’t push it.” 

“Yeah,” Annette confirms. She watches the empty street through her thermal scope, waiting for movement. 

“Status check, Ingrid?” 

“Fuck-” Ingrid’s comms crackle with static, her voice cutting in and out. “Trap -- I’m -- power --”

“Something’s leeching her power,” Shamir says. “Shit, why don’t we have a live feed from Lúin?”

“It’s set up to record combat data,” Catherine mutters. “We can’t do both at the same time.” 

“Annette-”

“I’m going,” Annette says, already moving without being asked. She can hear splintering glass and screeching metal. Crusher skitters around a corner, stretching and snapping powerlines with a shower of sparks as she does. She lifts her rifle. “INGRID!” 

Lúin is prone, crumpled into a heap halfway down the street, the rubble of a collapsed building piled on top. Power lines tangle around its body, sparking. A fire breaks out, sending a car bursting into flames. 

Crusher sprints down the street and slides to Lúin’s side on its knees. “I’m here, Ingrid,” Annette says, Crusher’s hands scrabbling at the debris keeping the Relic pinned. “I’m here.” 

More crackling comms as Ingrid’s audio channel lights up. “Don’t! -- Beast --” 

Annette, kneeling in the debris, swivels her head up. The beast is at the far end of the street, its claws dug into the cement, its golden beak pecking down. 

“What’s it doing?” Annette frowns, squinting. 

“Annette, your priority is stopping that Beast,” Catherine reminds her. 

“Lúin’s cockpit integrity is at 13%,” Cyril warns. “Power outage imminent.” 

Annette tosses her rifle into the road and digs faster, wrapping Crusher’s hands around the tangle of power wires and pulling to free Lúin. As soon as she makes contact with the wires, energy courses through her Relic, flashing her digital displays.

“Annette!” Catherine shouts. 

“She’s almost free,” Annette mutters, gripping a slab of concrete and pulling it off of Lúin’s chassis. 

“Don’t -- worry --” Ingrid’s voice cuts in.

“If you can hear me, don’t speak,” Cyril says. “You’re draining the cockpit’s power faster. Life support systems are already at critical levels.” 

With a grunt of effort and a cry of success, Annette flips the concrete slab off of Lúin, freeing it. Ingrid manages to push herself weakly to her feet, the mech rocking back and forth. “Ann--” she mutters.

“Okay, now for the Beast,” Annette says, confidently standing up and reaching for her rifle. 

Half-prone in the rubble of the collapsed building, Lúin lifts its rifle, arms trembling. “Go--” Ingrid manages to mumble out. 

“Comms power down,” Cyril reports. “Thirty seconds till vital supports shut down.” 

At the end of the street, the Beast is still digging, its claws tearing through concrete and ripping up power lines and water pipes. It crouches in its hole, pecking and shredding lower and lower.

Lúin pulses off a shot, a single bolt of energy blasting from Fimbulvetr’s barrel and carving a path of ice down the street, sending cars and debris smashing into store-fronts. The blast connects with the Beast and smashes through its cracked gold barrier before hitting the Beast itself, freezing it in the showers of smashed water pipes. 

“Annette, NOW!” Catherine commands. 

Annette aligns Abraxas’ scope with the Beast, waiting for the computer-assisted reticle to center. Her hands shake. “F-firing,” she says, squeezing the trigger.

A pulse of light glows at the center of the Beast, and then its skin swells and bursts. It explodes in a bubble of white light, splattering blood across the intersection and washing red across buildings in all directions. It collapses in a gory heap, only chunks of flesh and the hard, golden mask remaining, floating in the puddle of blood in its concrete grave.

Annette lets out a breath and collapses to her knees, dropping Abraxas to the street with a crash. She can see spots in her vision, bits of light and dark pulsing in her view. Beside her, Lúin’s cockpit blasts open, the pressure expelling the thick cockpit fluid out in a stream. Ingrid climbs out, breathing hard, soaking wet, and she stumbles off the side of the Relic and onto a crumpled pile of metal that was once a car, maybe. She lays there, staring up at the sky, breathing hard. 

“You good?” she exhales, staring up at Crusher.

Annette manages to lift its hand and flash a giant thumbs-up.

-

Ashe slings his backpack over one arm, the other hand gripping the handles of a plastic shopping bag. The lobby of Annette’s apartment building is empty. He walks up to the row of mailboxes and skims.  _ Charon _ \- and then in small, neat handwriting -  _ Galatea _ \- and then on a piece of masking tape -  _ Dominic  _ is crossed out and  _ Fantine  _ is written over it in black marker. Ashe frowns. Annette never mentioned anything about roommates. 

He makes his way across the lobby to a bank of elevators and presses the call button. 

The lobby doors open behind him and a man approaches, waiting for the elevator next to him.

“Oh!” Ashe smiles brightly. “Hello, Felix.”

Felix frowns at him. “Do I know you?”

“Ah, sorry,” Ashe struggles with his things enough to extend his hand. “Ashe Ubert. I’m, uh...friends with Annette, who knows Ingrid.”

“Is that right.”

The elevator door dings and opens. 

“I’m here to drop off Annette’s paperwork,” Ashe continues, heedless of Felix’s stern expression. “She missed school today.” The elevator door slides shut. “How about all that business with the Demonic Beast attack downtown, huh? Pretty scary.”

Felix grunts in agreement.

“What floor?” Ashe asks.

“Twenty-three.”

“Me too!” Ashe raises his eyebrows. “What are you doing here?”

“Bringing Ingrid her homework.”

“Oh!” Ashe laughs. “She and Annette must be neighbors, huh? I didn’t realize they lived in the same building.” He turns to watch the digital floor display tick upwards. “It’s kind of strange, isn’t it? I assumed most students lived on campus, but I guess if they can afford it…”

The doors open and Ashe and Felix walk together down the hallway. 

“Same direction, too, huh,” Ashe says, his humor evaporating. “Ah…” 

The both of them stop at the same door. 

“Huh,” Ashe says. 

Felix knocks. 

“It’s open!” calls out a voice. 

Ashe and Felix glance at each other before Felix opens the door. 

“Ingrid?” he calls. “I brought your schoolwork.”

The two of them walk into the apartment and Ashe immediately wrinkles his nose. Air freshener can only do so much to cover up the smell of cigarettes and reheated takeout.

Ingrid and Annette are sitting together on the couch, both of their eyes glued to the TV. 

“Hey, Annette, I brought some things for you,” Ashe says nervously. 

“Thanks,” Annette says distantly. 

On the TV, a ticker runs below footage of a press conference.  _ Mayor holds press conference to discuss state of emergency _ .

A man stands at the podium - any of them can recognize him as the mayor, Seteth Cichol. His angular face and distinct hair have been plastered over campaign posters for a few months now, even though he always wins reelection. Behind him, Catherine Charon stands, her head tilted downwards. It’s strange to see her dressed so formally, in a pressed suit, with her hair tied up into a neat ponytail instead of the mess she usually leans into. 

The mayor’s voice is commanding, comforting to a crowd of reporters looking for answers. 

“-and so, in the coming weeks, we will be formalizing our partnership with the SEIROS organization to provide extra defense to our city in this trying time.”

He pauses and there is a flicker and flash of dozens of cameras. Reporters clamor over one another, each trying to make their voice heard. 

“As for yesterday’s attack downtown, we are still looking into the cause of it. The district will be off-limits for repairs, and I have been assured that SEIROS will be taking full responsibility for the incident and the cleanup.” He pauses again, waits for the din of reporters to subside. “Anyone living in the off-limits area will be provided emergency housing for the duration of repairs. And now, I present Catherine Charon, spokeswoman for SEIROS, who will answer any questions you have.”

Ashe sits next to Annette on the couch and makes nervous eye contact with her. She glances back at the TV. Felix still stands behind the couch, his arms folded over his chest.

“Ah, hello,” Catherine says, gripping the podium and leaning into the microphone. Her voice overmodulates and the microphone pops and crackles. She winces, leaning back and speaking more softly. “Yes, hello, as Mayor Cichol said, I am Commander Charon. I will be acting liaison between SEIROS and the city defense department.”

She seems uncomfortable up on the stage, under such bright lights and intense scrutiny. The reporters again clamor over each other. 

Catherine points at one. “You, ma’am, what was your question?”

“Garreg Mach Sun,” the woman says. “Can you explain to the public what the defense measures you enacted yesterday... _ were _ , exactly?” 

Catherine sighs deeply. “Yes. At SEIROS, we have been investing in the development of anti-Beast weaponry. The result of this project are these machines we call Relics.”

More loud clamoring, and Catherine frowns. 

“Please,” she says, her stern voice issuing a command rather than a request. “You,” she points at a man. 

“You said ‘machines’ - are you saying this is an automated defense system, similar to the Titanus defense system used in Arianrhod?” 

“Not exactly,” Catherine corrects. “Our Relics are controlled by human pilots - it allows for faster response time to dynamic battle situations, proper threat assessment, and diligent cooperation between forces.” 

“Who are these pilots?” a woman asks.

“That is classified information,” Catherine says, leaning on the podium. “As per our contract, SEIROS reserves the right to maintain the privacy of any employees.”

“Contract? How long has the city been working with SEIROS?” 

Catherine licks her lips and scans the crowd of reporters. “Several years,” she says. “We are independently funded - don’t worry, your tax dollars aren’t going to us. But the city provided us land to develop defense infrastructure, and now that those defenses are becoming necessary, we are able to deploy countermeasures.”

“Why do you think Demonic Beasts are attacking the city?” 

“They’re monsters,” Catherine explains simply. “They’re drawn to human population centers.”

“Are we in danger?” 

“Not as long as you obey emergency warnings,” Catherine says. “The Demonic Beasts are mechanical, they will not choose to seek out emergency refuge centers.”

“Bullshit,” Ingrid mutters, sitting back against the couch. She looks up. “Oh, hey, Felix.”

Felix’s eyes are glued to the television, his face expressionless. Something angry lingers in his eyes, though, and Annette glances away from him. 

“Wow,” Ashe breathes out, watching the press conference. Catherine is talking about repair logistics. “That’s pretty scary, huh? Wonder what it’s like for the pilots.” 

Felix drops his things for Ingrid on the table and storms out of the room, slamming the front door behind him.

“Jeeze, what was that all about?” Annette asks. 

Ingrid is staring at the door, her expression sad and distant. 

“Should I go…?” Ashe asks Annette quietly. 

“It’s okay,” Ingrid interjects, standing up and turning the TV off. 

Annette picks up the grocery bag Ashe brought and peers inside, her face lighting up. “Oh my gosh, Ashe, did you go to that new bakery?” 

“Yeah,” Ashe smiles sheepishly and rubs the back of his head. “I was worried it’d be closed, since it was so close to all that stuff yesterday, but I managed to pick up some pastries for you.” He watches Ingrid sitting down at the kitchen table. “I would have brought enough for both of you, but I didn’t know-”

“We can share!” Annette smiles. “Thank you, Ashe. Really.”

“Of course,” Ashe smiles back and pulls his backpack off. “I brought you the worksheet packet you missed, and made a copy of my notes from the lecture.” He hands her the packet of papers. “If you want, I can stay and we can study a little bit?” 

“That’d be nice,” Annette nods. 

Behind them, Ingrid sits at the kitchen table, resting her face in her hands. 

-

The room is dark, empty. Each footstep of boot against tile echoes along the darkness. Annette is in her school uniform, summoned from class. Her head is bowed, staring at the floor. 

The pathways of the SEIROS headquarters continually reveal new routes to Annette - more doors, more bays, more labs, more offices. Always wires, always pipes, always uniformed engineers hurrying past her. Always pistols in holsters at their sides. Annette blinks, trying to adjust her eyes to the darkness.

“Annette.”

Annette looks up and steels herself. “Sir.” 

Gilbert closes the digital display projected over his desk and folds his hands together, watching her. “Do you know why I summoned you?”

“To punish me,” Annette says softly. “For disobeying C-Commander Catherine’s orders, and for revealing the SEIROS project to civilians, and for-”

“Annette,” he says again, his voice calm and stern.

“Yes, sir,” she curls her hands into fists and squeezes. She can feel her pulse, sometimes. The flow of blood through her fingers, her hands, her arms. It’s strange, she thinks. Has she always been able to feel the blood in her arms, or is it only noticeable now that she’s experienced its absence? 

“I called you here,” he says, unfolding her hands. “To commend you for your improvement.”

“What?” Annette frowns. 

“Your new data is excellent - you’ve been improving in all areas. Stability, synchronization, economy of energy use…”

Annette sighs. “What do you want from me, father?”

“I simply wanted to discuss your progress-”

“I don’t care,” Annette snaps. “Is that all you think about? Your precious project?” She grips her skirt to prevent herself from stepping forward. “I’ve been here for weeks, and you haven’t even spoken to me.”

“I’ve been very busy-”

“Doing what, exactly?” Annette cuts him off. “What  _ is _ the SEIROS project? Why am I here. Of all people, why me? Why now?” 

“I’m not at liberty to discuss the details of-”

“Not at liberty?!” Annette scowls. “What  _ can _ you say, father? Nothing about your job, nothing to your child, your wife?” She exhales angrily. “And now you’re here, and I’m here, and all you care about is how well I can play with your little dolls?”

Gilbert’s voice is angry. “Annette, you are not to speak to me like that-”

“Then I’d rather not speak to you at all.” Annette folds her arms over her chest. “If that’s all, I’d like to be dismissed.”

“Go, then,” Gilbert says sadly. “And Annette?” 

Annette stops at the door to his office, her hand an inch from the door latch. She doesn’t turn.

“I am proud of you.”

The door slides open with a pneumatic hiss. 

She manages to make it home before the tears come. The elevator ride up, the train ride home, the short walk to the apartment building - all come and go in a haze, her head pounding and her fingers piercing tiny red crescents in her palm. Her head is empty and her heart aches. 

Ingrid is gone, fortunately, and Annette can pull off her boots and throw herself onto her bed and sob, wrapping her arms around a pillow, hoping it’s enough to muffle her. 

She hasn’t cried like this in so long - since he left, maybe, leaving her and her mother with years of confusion and pain and the humiliation of explaining that her father left them. Leaving them grasping for answers where there were none. Perhaps it would have been better if he truly was dead.

When she was younger, Annette went through a period of choosing to believe that - why else would he leave them like that? No letters, no phone calls, no emails, not so much as flowers for her mother’s birthday.

The sun had set, somewhere in that last bout of tears. Annette sobs and wipes her face on the pillow she’s got a death-grip on, pulling back to suck in gasping breaths.

“Annette-?” Ingrid’s voice comes through the door, muffled. 

The bedroom door opens softly and Annette hurls her pillow at it. “Leave me alone,” she snaps, knowing that her words carry less venom and more despair. “Please,” she hugs her knees. “Please, I…” She clenches her teeth hard enough for her head to pulse. 

_ Don’t you understand how hard your father works? _

Annette hugs her legs to her chest, tighter, trying to muffle her sobs. 

What good does it do to work hard to save people if you can’t even treat your own daughter like a human being? 

She curls up in bed and pulls the covers over her shoulder, her sobs stifling, her puffy eyes slipping shut. 

When she wakes again in the dead of the night, her throat dry and her eyes sore, there is a cold plate of food and a glass of water on the nightstand. 

-

Catherine tips her hard-helmet back and squints up at the morning sunlight through her sunglasses. She sips a paper cup of coffee and makes a face. 

“That’s disgusting.”

“You’re telling me,” Shamir says at her side, flicking a cigarette butt into the massive crater in the city intersection. The blood has dried and crusted in most places, a frozen crystalline spray of red, but the crater remains fluid. The gold Beast mask sits at the bottom, its beak protruding from the surface like the mast of a sunken ship. She sticks her hands in her jumpsuit pocket and fishes out another cigarette. “You don’t have to dig around inside Relics all day.”

“At least that’s…”

“What?” Shamir grins, a cigarette in her lips. She flicks her lighter. “Human?” 

“I was going to say ‘safe’.” 

Shamir laughs.

Behind them, there’s a scrape and crash of metal and concrete as a bulldozer pushes a pile of debris. A chunk of Relic armor sits in the pile. Catherine frowns and downs her coffee. “Hey, hey!” she shouts, waving at the bulldozer driver. “What are you doing with that?” 

Shamir laughs again and stares into the crater, closing her eyes and taking a slow drag. The morning is cold and crisp, and she’s thankful their standard-issue SEIROS jumpsuits are windproof. 

Catherine is still shouting at the bulldozer driver, her voice drowned out by the beeping of a dump truck as it reverses towards them. 

Shamir sits on the edge of the crater and watches construction vehicles. A crane piles spent energy cartridges on the back of a flatbed truck. 

Being a supervisor is hard work, she thinks, climbing down into the crater. It’s deep, deeper than it looked in the pictures. She holds one hand against the slope, keeping a steady grip on the smashed concrete chunks and exposed pipes. The blood at the bottom laps against the sides of the crater like a red sea. 

Shamir squats on a slab of concrete and stares at the golden mask. “Hey!” she shouts up to a passing construction worker. 

He looks down at her. “Yes, ma’am?” 

Shamir waves her cigarette at the mask. “Load this up on the truck back to HQ,” she orders. Even after sitting in a pool of muck for days, the gold hasn’t tarnished or dulled. Dead, golden eyes stare up at her from below the surface. 

“What do you make of it?” Catherine says from the top of the crater.

“It looks deliberate,” Shamir frowns, standing up. “It wasn’t just attacking at random, it was trying to get somewhere.”

“Hm…” Catherine hums. She sips her coffee and takes her sunglasses off to get a better look. 

“What’s underneath here?” Shamir asks.

“I’ll talk to city hall and see if I can get some plans,” Catherine says. 

Shamir looks at Catherine curiously. Something in her answer felt strange. They had been coworkers long enough for her to know Catherine’s body language. She grimaces and climbs back out of the crater, allowing Catherine to take her hand and pull her out the rest of the way.

“No trains run under here,” Shamir muses. “I wonder if we can get seismic readings before the city makes us clear out.”

“Best not to push it, I think,” Catherine says, clapping Shamir on the shoulder and steering her away from the pit. “Besides, there’s a mountain of paperwork in the foreman’s trailer with your name on it.”

Shamir glances at Catherine and rolls her eyes. “There really are better uses of my time.”

“Ah, but we’re government workers, now,” Catherine laughs, putting her sunglasses back on. “Welcome to a world of paperwork and bureaucracy.”

“Great, and just when we were making progress on Aegis,” Shamir sighs. “If you see Cyril, send him my way, will you?

“Yes, ma’am,” Catherine salutes with her empty coffee cup. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Shout out to @shenyun5000 on twitter who has done some fantastic designs for Blutgang and Vajra-Mushti! They seriously kick ass. You can see that and all of the compiled art here: https://twitter.com/i/events/1244116636103135233


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid has a nightmare, the pilots practice urban warfare, and Annette asks a difficult question.

Annette stares at the ceiling. 

Catherine finally bought her a futon, after sleeping on the couch for weeks, but now she might be sleeping even worse. Not that the futon is uncomfortable, but that she’s acutely aware of how close Ingrid is to her. 

Ingrid snores, which isn’t really her fault - Catherine says its respiratory damage from injuries, which doesn’t make Annette feel any better. 

She sighs and rolls over, staring at the window instead of the bottom of Ingrid’s bed. There had been talk of bunk beds, but given how long it took for futon acquisition, that seemed unlikely. She tugs her blanket over her shoulders. Ingrid likes to sleep with the window open, and the nighttime breeze is cold. Annette watches shadows dance on the floor, cast by the rippling curtains.

Above her, Ingrid snorts and rolls over. With each movement, the bed frame creaks beneath her weight. Annette looks at the clock. Four in the morning.

It had been difficult to sleep these last few days. More pressure, more weariness. Everyone at SEIROS seemed more tense, and everyone at school couldn’t stop talking about the Relics and the Demonic Beast attacks. 

Ashe seemed excited - it’s like those books he’s always reading, about heroic knights and soldiers and space-faring captains. Annette closes her eyes and smells blood. Her ears are always ringing, her hands always shaking. 

One day, she’d have to face her father. She rolls over again, unable to find a comfortable position. Her bed is too hot with blankets, too cold without. She grinds her teeth and sits up, wiping her sweaty forehead with the edge of her blanket. Water would probably help. Or music.

Her eyes drift around the room. It’s neater now that it’s shared space, but she can still see evidence that it’s Ingrid’s domain. Her things on the dresser, her clothes hanging from the closet door handles. Rolls of bandages and gauze piled on the desk, bottles of painkillers with crumpled prescription tags. 

Annette reaches for her tape player, lying where she left it against her school bag. She unwinds the headphone cords from around the player and slides them over her ears. 

There’s a slight whimper.

She frowns and presses pause on her music.

Another whimper, louder. Creaks of the moving bed. 

Ingrid’s breathing quickens, inhales punctuated by weak gasps and more movement. 

Annette takes her headphones off and watches Ingrid’s sleeping form nervously. 

Tears wet her pillow as she writhes, her voice mumbling between whimpers, her tone pleading and desperate.

“N-no,” she mutters, rolling again, wrapping her arms tightly around herself. “No, p-please…” 

She whimpers again and chokes out a sob, louder this time as she buries herself into her pillow and cries. 

“No,” she protests again. “No, Glenn, I-”

She thrashes desperately, her pillow soaking with tears and her breathing sharp and uneven. She’s gasping for breath, drowning, tangled in sheets as she cries out, moaning and desperate. Her words dissolve into desperate, choking pleas and strained cries. 

Annette stares at her, unsure what to do.

Ingrid’s thrashing reaches a crescendo and she bolts upright in bed, hand to her heaving chest as she gasps for breath. Her blonde hair is wild and unkempt, tangled around her eyes and face, giving Annette time to throw herself back down on the futon and face away, towards the window.

Annette yanks her blanket up to her shoulders and squeezes her eyes shut, trying to still her breathing. She can hear shifting movement and the creaking of the bed frame as Ingrid sits back against the headboard and tries to catch her breath.

Annette watches Ingrid’s warped reflection in the glass of the open window. The last vestiges of a sob still grip Ingrid’s lungs and she shudders, clutching herself tighter, wiping away her sweaty bangs and rocking back and forth, gently, whispering to herself. 

Annette’s no stranger to feigning sleep, but never before has she felt so guilty for it. 

Ingrid’s voice falters and fades and Annette can hear her uncoil on the bed, her breathing louder and slower. 

She still sniffles when she inhales, and the bed creaks again. 

Annette can feel Ingrid’s gaze on her back and holds her breath, not willing to release it until Ingrid sighs and slips out of bed, padding towards the door. 

She returns a few minutes later, her face scrubbed and her hair tied up. Annette watches through half-closed eyes as she sets a glass of water on the nightstand. Ingrid sits back against the bed’s headboard quietly. Both of them independently wait for dawn. 

-

“Annette, are you paying attention?” 

Annette blinks and looks up. Her wrists ache and her hands drape loosely over Crusher’s control sticks. “Yeah, sorry,” she says sluggishly. 

“We’re on a strict time limit here, remember,” Catherine warns her. “You don’t have any time to waste daydreaming.”

Rain splatters the viewscreens, smearing across Annette’s vision. She reaches Crusher’s hand up to wipe the rain clear. Above, the sky rumbles, dark and ominous. Lightning flickers somewhere in the distance. 

“Yes, ma’am,” Annette says.

Catherine’s voice crackles and then focuses. “We’re on a private channel, Annette. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m okay.”

“Your vitals are fine but it looks like some of your nutrient levels are down. Have you been eating?” 

Annette blinks. “Yeah,” she lies. She had skipped lunch and didn’t meet Ingrid for their afternoon sparring session. “I’m just tired. I haven’t been sleeping well.”

Catherine sighs. “We can pick you up some sleep supplements on the way home,” she suggests. “I’m switching back to the public channel.”

Rain pours off the rooftops, pooling in the gutters and running down the street in rivers. The whole street is devoid of cars - the roads are blocked off, five blocks in either direction. Police cars are parked at the far ends of the cordon, uniformed men and women in plastic rain gear, watching the Relics as they work through their initial exercises.

“Okay, Ingrid,” Catherine says. “Diagnostics look good. Remember, we need to make this look good. No damage to any buildings.” 

“Understood,” Ingrid says. She reaches around Lúin’s shoulder and draws her lance, gripping it tightly. Rain sparks and hisses, evaporating where it hits the lance’s glowing blade. She drops her knees lower, keeping Lúin light, mobile.

Annette recognizes the stance - it’s the same movements Ingrid does in the training ring. 

“I still don’t understand why we can’t use guns,” Ingrid says, tapping the butt of her spear against the concrete road. 

“Because Annette vaporized half of an office building,” Shamir says flatly. “We need to be better about minimizing collateral damage.”

“Cichol is already on my ass about how much it’s costing the city for you two to train here,” Catherine mutters. “Try not to make it any worse for those of us who have to do the paperwork, yeah?”

Annette reaches Crusher’s arm down to the weapon affixed to her side. She presses the release and can hear a hiss and scrape as the bindings disengage and she pulls up her weapon and holds it at the ready. Dust, the engineers had called it - a blunt energy hammer for smashing shields and masks to bits. She presses a switch on the hilt and the weapon hums to life, its head sparking and glowing. A match to Ingrid’s blade. Annette holds it out, defensively.

“Okay, kids,” Catherine says. “Fight fair. Try not to damage each other’s Relic, alright?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annette says.

“No promises,” Ingrid says, lunging forward and thrusting. Crusher sidesteps and smacks the blade away with its hammer. The weapons flash and spark where they meet, the energy bouncing both of them back. 

“We’ve improved motor stability and grip for the Relics’ feet,” Cyril reads out dutifully. “You should be able to move more efficiently on artificial terrain now, like-” his voice is lost as Ingrid and Annette’s weapons collide again, a shower of sparks and a scrape of metal as they dance around each other, each trying to stay close and at range in equal measure.

It’s a delicate balance to strike, and they both know it. If Annette is closer than Lúin’s reach, she’ll win - Lúin can keep her at bay, she doesn’t stand a chance of hitting it. 

Ingrid grits her teeth and rotates, lashing a leg out and crashing it into Crusher’s chest plate. Annette yelps as the cockpit shakes and rattles. 

“Hey!” Annette shouts.

“Good strike, Ingrid,” Catherine says. 

Annette shakes her head and readies her weapon again, looking to deflect Ingrid’s incoming strikes. 

They fall into a familiar rhythm, one Annette is used to - Ingrid’s pattern of strikes, lunges, blocks. They’ve sparred with weapons before - mostly wooden prop weapons, but the motions are the same. 

Annette’s lips curl into a smile as the realization dawns on her.

“You’re too slow,” Ingrid says over the comms, and Annette can hear the smile in her voice. She’s recognized it, too.

Nothing else matters, then - not Catherine over the comms, not the onlooking city officers. Their battle arena is bounded by glass and concrete, not rope, but the shape is the same, the dance is the same. Ingrid leads, Annette follows. Strike, strike. Block, strike. Parry, riposte. Their weapons clash and spark together in the rain. 

Annette pulls back, giving Crusher room to breathe and herself room to rest. She reaches up to wipe rain away, just as she would wipe sweat away in the ring. She can’t help but laugh.

“Something funny, pilot?” Catherine asks.

“No,” Annette stifles another laugh. “I’m good. It’s okay.”

Across from her, down the street, Lúin is resting, too, propped up on its lance like a crutch. 

Annette tightens her grip on the control sticks and grins. 

-

“Look, look!” Ashe says excitedly, tapping Annette’s shoulder. “Watch how they fight - they’re just like giant knights, huh?” He holds up a digital tablet, scrubbing through hand-camera videos of the two Relics sparring in the city streets. 

Annette wipes cupcake frosting from her lips and nods, mouth full of cake. 

“It’s so cool,” Ashe says, watching again as the Relics bounce off each other. 

Something lurches in the pit of Annette’s stomach. She knows she’s inside that thing, but she can’t reconcile that thought as she watches herself fight. The way the Relics move, the way they lumber through the streets, the strange flailing of arms as the smash their weapons together - it’s not human, as much as Annette can think it is from inside the cockpit. 

It’s so...uncanny. It’s a living beast, a thing with its own consciousness, a movement wholly unlike humans sparring with their weapons. 

And those awful mouths. 

She’s seen its form before, but only still, only straight and secured by metal bindings and support lattices. Now, freed from its restraints, Crusher looks bestial. Its head looks ready to split open, ready to turn into a yawning void of teeth and darkness, to devour. The only thing holding is back is the shoddy metal bands, the wire and metal plating that seems to barely be supporting its structure. 

Annette feels sick and sets the rest of her pastry down on her lunch tray. 

The cafeteria is busy with students rushing to lunch between classes. Rain trickles down the glass windows, turning the manicured lawns into a mire of muck. In the distance, thunder crackles. 

“It’s so cool,” Ashe repeats, leaning back in his chair. “Don’t you think so, Annette?” He looks at her curiously. “Are you okay?”

“Just a little sick,” Annette says, frowning. 

“Yeah, well, you did eat like five of those cupcakes,” Ashe laughs. He closes his tablet case and slides it back into his backpack. “Don’t you live in that direction? Did you get to see the Relics fighting?” 

Annette shakes her head. “N-no, I was um. At work, actually.”

“Oh, that’s a shame.” 

“What are you watching?” Ingrid asks, appearing behind Annette. 

“O-Oh!”she yelps. “Ashe was, um, he found some videos someone recorded of the, uh, the Relic battle yesterday.”

“It was just a training exercise,” Ashe explains. “They closed off the whole neighborhood and everything. I think it was just an industrial area, though, so no one really lived there.”

“Huh.” Ingrid looks at Annette, and Annette winces and shrugs.

Ingrid pulls out a seat next to Annette and sits, dropping her tray heavily on the table.

“Not eating with Felix today?” Annette asks politely, desperate to talk about  _ anything _ but Relics.

“He’s been in a bad mood recently,” Ingrid says simply, picking up her fork and spearing a bite of meat. “I figured it’s best to give him some alone time.”

“Oh. Do you know why?”

Ingrid chews thoughtfully and swallows. “Who knows, with him.” 

“Hello, Ingrid,” Ashe leans out from behind Annette and waves. “How do you think you did on the test?” 

Ingrid shrugs. “Dunno,” she says through a mouthful of food. “I haven’t been able to study much recently, so I guess we’ll see when we get our grades back.”

Annette frowns at Ingrid’s tray. “Is that...all meat?” 

“Hm?” Ingrid swallows. “Yeah, it’s a buffet, so nothing’s stopping me.”

“No, nothing is  _ stopping  _ you from getting a plate of three...no, four different kinds of meat and nothing else, but-”

“It’s high in iron,” Ingrid says, reaching into her bag and pulling out a protein shaker bottle. “You should consider eating less sugar and carbs, you know.”

Annette frowns and instinctively glances down at her stomach. 

“I think you look fine,” Ashe offers his opinion.

“It’s not a weight thing,” Ingrid says, washing down a bite of smoked meat with her protein drink. “Annette and I have been training in the afternoons after class.”

“I wondered what it was you guys were doing,” Ashe says, neatening up his empty plate and silverware. “Seems like you’ve really been getting into it, Annette.”

“Yeah, well…” Annette smiles. “It’s fun!”

“Do you think you’re going to try out for one of the sports clubs?” Ashe asks.

“I don’t think so,” Annette shakes her head. “Just, between classes and work…”

“Ah, yeah, that makes sense,” Ashe nods. “Well, I’m going to the library to study-”

“Oh!” Annette pushes herself to her feet. “I’ll, um - I’ll go with you! I want to review some of the homework.”

“Annette…” Ingrid calls after her. 

Annette swivels on the heel of her boot, almost toppling over. “Huh? What?”

“Be careful,” she says quietly. She glances across the room, to the far exit. Standing beneath a bank of illuminated screens is the woman from before - the one who had been watching them spar. 

“I asked around,” Ingrid continues. “That’s one of the new professors. They just started this year.” 

The professor’s solid gaze is finally broken by a young woman with pale white hair approaching her and commanding her attention. 

Annette looks at Ingrid and nods. 

“I don’t trust her.”

“Do you think she knows something?”

“I don’t know,” Ingrid admits. “I just don’t like it.”

“Come on!” Ashe calls, beckoning Annette onwards. 

“I gotta go,” she smiles. “See you later?”

“Mm,” Ingrid nods through a mouthful of food.

-

“Catherine’s working late again, huh,” Annette asks, standing at the balcony door. It’s still raining, pattering against the balcony and streaking down the windows. The evening sky is a dark, cloudy blue behind the city skyline. Red lights twinkle on the top corners of buildings.

“Looks like it,” Ingrid says, fluffing out her damp hair and wrapping a towel around her neck. She smells fresh and clean, like bath soap and flowers, and Annette watches her reflection in the balcony glass. She’s dressed plainly in her after-bath clothing, in simple cotton shorts and a heathered grey t-shirt. Annette can see the outline of her sports bra underneath her shirt and tips her head down, blushing.

“I’ll make some dinner while you take a bath,” Ingrid offers, finishing toweling off her hair. “Beef curry sound okay?”

“Not that awful instant stuff, right?” Annette turns away from the window and grimaces. 

“Haha, no, we have some vegetables in the fridge. Something warm sounds good on a cold, wet night like this.” 

“Do you need any help chopping anything? Or, um…” Annette smiles and rubs the back of her head. “I dunno, I can stir stuff.”

“It’s okay,” Ingrid says. “Go get cleaned up and I’ll fix something. I’m not the best cook, but-”

“Anything is better than Catherine’s instant noodles,” Annette says, and Ingrid laughs. 

The bathroom is still hot and steamy, the mirror still fogged up from the heat of Ingrid’s bath. Annette wipes down the mirror, takes her nighttime medicine, and undresses. 

For all of Catherine’s faults, she could never be accused of having a cheap apartment - those government checks (or SEIROS checks?) could pay for some nice amenities. One of which is a full-sized soaking tub that Annette revels in every time she has the chance. It’s one of the best parts of her day, really. After piloting, they go through another hose-down of disinfection and decontamination before leaving, but that always leaves Annette feeling sticky and gritty. 

She sighs and slips into the warm water, letting the tension in her muscles and joints melt away under the hot water. 

Before, when she lived with her mother, they never stayed in the same place long. After her father had left, it was a few months of hostels and rent-by-the-week apartments before they managed to scrape together enough cash for a place of their own. That place had a shower cubicle but nothing close to a bathtub.

They stayed with her paternal uncle for a while, but Annette never felt comfortable enough there to use the facilities more than she needed to. Besides, she spent most of her time in her room, studying for her entrance exams. 

And then it was the school dormitories, and now this. Luxury, compared to everything else.

_ Just how much does SEIROS pay _ ? 

She closes her eyes, inhales, exhales. 

She must have dozed off at some point, because the next thing she knows, someone is rapping at the bathroom door.

“Mm?” she asks, sitting up and blinking. The tips of her fingers are wrinkly. She rubs her face. “Hello?”

“Dinner’s ready,” Ingrid’s voice comes through the door. “No hurry, though. It’s on the stove.” 

“I’ll be out in a minute!” Annette says, standing up and letting herself drip-dry before toweling off. She dresses quickly, almost falling over into the tub as she tries to get one foot through a pant leg. She tugs on a sweater and stops at the mirror to curl her wet hair into little loops - it’ll dry wavy and soft, just how she likes it. 

“Wow,” she says, folding her towel over her arm and walking out into the apartment. “It smells amazing.”

“Ah, it’s not anything fancy,” Ingrid says, standing over a bubbling pot on the stove. “Cooking onions and meat can make anything smell good.” 

Annette laughs and stops into their room to hang up her towel before stepping back into the kitchen. Ingrid is already ladling out bowls of curry over rice for both of them. 

“I, uh, might have gone a little heavy on the beef, actually,” she says.

Annette laughs as she sits at the table. “I think I’m noticing a trend with you.”

Ingrid laughs, too, and brings both bowls over. “Well, we never had much money growing up, so it was always sort of a special treat, you know?” She slides Annette’s bowl across the table. “Now that I have this job, I get to eat as much as I want to.” 

Annette scoops out a tentative spoonful, giving the dinner a quick sniff before eating it. Hey eyes brighten. “Oh gosh, Ingrid, this is delicious!” 

“Haha, really, it’s nothing special,” Ingrid waves, picking up her own spoon with her free hand. “It’s not really a hard meal to make or anything.” 

“Still, it tastes good!” Annette swallows and goes in for another bite. Its rich, and warm, and the perfect antidote to a week of grey rainclouds and no sun. The two of them eat quietly, their meals mostly punctuated by the occasional comment and the pattering of rain on the balcony outside.

“Ingrid?” Annette asks.

“Mm?” Ingrid responds through a mouthful of food. She swallows. “What’s up?”

“What...what exactly  _ are _ the Relics?” 

Ingrid finishes chewing another bite. “That’s a big question.” 

“Yeah, it’s just...no one has really explained it to me. SEIROS just has so much money and power, and who  _ knows _ how deep the command center goes, and the Relics...”

“They’re machines built to defend the city,” Ingrid shrugs. 

“They just...don’t you smell it, in the cockpit? It smells like blood, and old leather, and sometimes I...I could swear it moves on its own, like...its arms are guiding mine, instead of the other way around.”

“It must be your imagination,” Ingrid tips her bowl back and scoops out some rice. “You’re just getting more used to piloting it.”

“Yeah, but...why do they look like that?” Annette asks. “Those weird faces, and all of those metal clamps and bands…”

“It holds them together,” Ingrid says. “They’re old and upkeep is difficult.” 

“How old?”

It’s quiet for a long moment before Ingrid responds. “I don’t know.”

Annette sighs and sits back in her chair. “Have you seen the other Relic? The one Catherine has been working on?” She looks out the window. “I wonder if that’s what she’s working on now. Oh...Ingrid?” 

Ingrid is staring out the window, too, her eyes empty and distant.

“Ah, well...I mean-” Annette fumbles for words. She nervously scrapes the bottom of her bowl and sighs, looking for something else to say. “That was delicious,” she settles on. “I wish we could eat like that every night.” 

“We could, if Catherine could be bothered to get real groceries,” Ingrid forces a laugh, picking up Annette’s bowl and stacking their dirty dishes. It’s almost mechanical, how quickly she switches her smile back on. 

“I’m surprised she’s not back,” Annette says, glancing at the clock. Going on nine o’clock. Later than she had been out in a long time.

Ingrid shrugs. “Probably out drinking with her coworkers.”

“Shamir, you mean?” 

Ingrid raises an eyebrow. “Something to say about Chief Engineer Nevrand?” 

“She and Catherine just seem...close.” 

Ingrid shrugs and idly wipes the table with a napkin. “I guess they are.” 

Annette leans back in her chair and watches Ingrid work - restless, as usual, wiping up the table, piling dishes in the sink, pouring leftovers into plastic containers - divided up for individual meal portions. 

Annette stares at her back as she runs the faucet to do the dishes. She rolls her sleeves up, baring her arms. No bandages, not anymore, and only pale traces of scars. Her muscles tense as she works.

She’s always working, always doing something. Schoolwork, sparring, training, working, cleaning, cooking. Even on the train, she’s multitasking, reading while Annette stares out the window, her mind wandering as the city flashes by. 

Ingrid’s hands move quickly, but Annette can see the way her fingers clench around the dish sponge, her grip too hard, her motions too jerky. The deliberate movements of someone trying very hard not to think about something. 

Annette pushes her chair back and pads to the kitchenette. The tile is cold against her bare feet and she stands next to Ingrid, picking up a dish towel and drying as Ingrid washes.

“You don’t have to do that,” Ingrid says, looking at her.

“I know,” Annette finishes drying a bowl and puts it back in the cupboard. 

“Thank you,” Ingrid says, gently touching the small of Annette’s back as she navigates around her to grab another dish. A small half-smile graces her lips as they fall into a rhythm of washing and drying. 

Annette swallows. 

Why is her heart pounding? Why is her tongue so thick, her mouth so dry and cottony? It’s just cleaning up dinner, but for some reason, her heart is lurching into her throat. She swallows again and finishes drying off some silverware. 

-

Annette stares at the ceiling. 

The window is closed, now, and the rain and wind lashes against the glass. In the moonlight, the streaks of raindrops cast mottled, shifting shadows across Annette’s futon. She stares at the ceiling, inhaling, exhaling. 

On the bed above her, Ingrid shifts, creaking the bedsprings. 

“Ingrid?” Annette asks, still staring at the ceiling.  _ She’s probably asleep, _ Annette thinks, rolling over.

“Hm?” Ingrid’s voice is clear and alert, like she wasn’t sleeping either. 

“Can I ask you something?” Annette stares at the window and listens to Ingrid reposition on the bed behind her. 

“Yeah,” Ingrid says. She yawns. “Anything.”

“Why…” Annette swallows. “Why do you do it?” 

“Why do I do what?” 

“Why...I mean…” Annette fumbles for the words. “Why do you pilot a Relic?” 

Ingrid gives a sharp exhale, not quite a laugh but almost there. “That’s a strange question.” She pushes herself up on one elbow and looks down at Annette, curled up on her futon. “Because I have to. Because I can, when no one else can.”

“That’s why?” Annette rolls over and blushes upon realizing Ingrid has been watching her. She feels foolish for even asking. 

“Because I have a duty,” Ingrid says, resolute, unwavering. “I...I can do this thing, to protect other people, to make the world safer. I can, so I have to.”

“Even if SEIROS doesn’t care about you?” Annette rolls over and pushes herself up to a sitting position. She hugs her knees close. “Even if they don’t care if you get hurt or die? There’s still so much we don’t know...I don’t understand how you’re content with not having any answers.” 

“I don’t know if SEIROS enters into it,” Ingrid admits. “I...I will do what is right, even if it costs me my life.” She closes her eyes and inhales. “Besides,” she says softly. “I made a promise.” She frowns. “Isn’t that why you pilot a Relic? To help people?”

“I...I don’t know,” Annette squeezes her legs and rests her head on her knees. “I...I thought I knew, but…” 

“It’s okay,” Ingrid says. “I know it’s scary, but...doing the right thing is scary, sometimes.” 

“It’s not that,” Annette says. “I’m not...I’m not afraid of the Beasts, I don’t think. But I’m afraid of SEIROS. Of...of the Relics.”

“Why?” Ingrid smiles, like a child is confessing she has seen the bogeyman. 

“I don’t know,” Annette shakes her head. “I don’t know, I just feel like...like there’s something we’re not being told.” She purses her lips. “I...I hate being lied to. More than anything else.” She sighs. “There’s so much that I just don’t understand.”

“It’ll come,” Ingrid says, reaching down and patting her. “Things are still pretty crazy, now, but you’ll settle into it.” 

She lets her hand linger on Annette’s shoulder, her fingers in her hair a second longer than is perhaps necessary, until Annette pulls away. Her heart pounds. She can still feel the ghost of Ingrid’s touch on her shoulders as she lays down and tugs the covers over herself. 

“Uh...it’s late,” Ingrid agrees sheepishly, pulling back and nestling into her own bed. “We should both get some sleep.”

Annette squeezes her eyes shut, trying to ignore tears rolling down her pillow.


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette learns the truth of the SEIROS project.

“Ten seconds until contact,” Shamir warns. 

“I see it,” Annette nods, lifting her rifle. The thermal scope scans the forest, looking for heat signatures, motion. A red blur crashes towards them. She inhales and holds a breath, waiting for the targeting computer to finish its calculations. 

“Fire at will,” Catherine says. “We don’t want a repeat of the last incident.” 

Annette listens to the confirmation beep before squeezing the trigger. Abraxas pulses off a shot, carving a swath through the trees and colliding with the onrushing monster. 

Lúin stands up beside her, its pointed head scanning the forest. “Did you hit it?” Ingrid asks. “I can’t see through the dust cloud.”

Annette allows herself to exhale and aligns the thermal scope again. “It’s still there,” she says quietly.

“What’s it doing?” 

“It’s just sitting there,” Annette breathes.

“What do you mean?” Ingrid picks up her rifle and climbs over the ridge they’re taking cover behind. 

It’s a cold evening, the sun almost setting behind the mountains. The Beast is coming from the north, this time, the craggy mountain valleys and crevices pockmarked with small pine thickets and cold, clear creeks. The sun glows orange in the sky, and stars threaten to begin twinkling in the violet curtain of twilight above.

Lúin’s form lumbers black and monstrous through the mountain crags, holstering its rifle and using both hands to haul itself up over a rocky outcropping, trying to gain a higher position.

“Still just sitting there,” Annette reports again, trying to adjust the scope’s zoom levels. The monster sits in a crater of splintered trees, curled into a tight ball. Unlike the other Beasts, its back is a ridged golden spine, armor plating spilling out over its flanks. “It doesn’t look hurt.”

“Clear to fire again, Dominic,” Shamir reports. 

“It’s doing something...” Ingrid says, drawing her gun. “Annette, wait-”

Too late, Annette fires. Crusher’s arms shake and vibrate with the force of the gun’s kickback, bucking as it shoots another burst of energy through the mountains. It hits the Beast and Annette grins, reveling in her success for a split second before she notices the Beast’s heat signature glowing in her thermal sight. 

The bolt of energy wraps around the Beast, sizzling across its golden barrier, sparkling and glowing. And then it ricochets, bouncing off the barrier and cutting the top of a rocky crag in half, splitting the rock and disintegrating it into dust. 

“SHIT!” Ingrid shouts, barely leaping Lúin out of the way before a shower of rocks and debris pile onto her vantage point. Lúin crashes down onto a rocky slope and slides, scraping along gravel and skidding towards a vertical drop into a river valley, far below. 

“Ingrid, stabilize!” Shamir shouts.

“I’m trying!” Lúin smashes both hands into the rock, claws raking trails as it tries to slow its descent towards the edge. 

“It’s moving!” Annette shouts. 

“What the hell was that?” Catherine snaps in the comms. 

“It’s climbing!” Annette says again.

“Annette, pursue! Ingrid, status-” Catherine’s voice crackles and splinters in the comms. 

“I’m okay,” Ingrid mutters. Lúin kneels at the cliffside, barely grasping onto the showering gravel sliding down towards it. “Annette, follow.”

Annette slings Abraxas over Crusher’s shoulder and moves to pursue, climbing higher into the mountains - she vaults over stony ledges and grips cliffs to scale up towards the summit. She can see the twinkling red lights of the city in the distance, glowing under the fiery horizon of sunset.

She scrambles to lower her rifle and get in position to look through the thermal scope. The sunset obscures her vision lighting half of the scope bright orange. She winces.

“I lost visual,” she says quietly. 

“Checking live feeds from the city boundaries,” Shamir says. “Cyril, can you get anything?”

“No, ma’am,” Cyril’s voice is shaky. “Nothing.”

“Shit.”

“How to proceed, command?” Annette asks, sitting up and lifting her rifle. She gazes down into the darkening maze of crags between her and the city. 

“It’s somewhere between you and Garreg Mach,” Catherine says. “Shamir, take command.”

“What? Why?” 

“I’m being summoned.”

“What?” Annette asks. “C-commander, I-”

“Ingrid, status report?” Shamir says, all business as usual. 

“Rendezvousing with Crusher in thirty seconds,” Ingrid reports back, scrambling up the cliffs behind her. 

“Reroute,” Shamir commands. “Follow the valley towards the city. Cyril will relay you the route.”

“What do I do, commander?” Annette asks, her hands shaking. She grips the control sticks tightly. 

“You’re on overwatch,” Shamir says. “The sun will be gone in two minutes, and I need your eyes on the space between us and the city. Can you do that?”

“Yes, ma’am.”

-

“Fine time to call me,” Catherine mutters, stepping off the elevator. She exhales, her breath foggy in the darkness. Her boots echo in the dark hallways as she mutters and curses to herself, following the maze of pipes and wires and green sheet metal. Stenciled letters mark the floor. LV 40. Approaching one thousand feet below the streets of Garreg Mach. She sighs and checks her ID card before swiping it through a reader. It beeps, blinks green, and a door slides open.

“Director,” Catherine says even before she steps through the door. “We’re in the middle of an operation-”

“I know,” the black screen flickers to live, audio bars warbling as the Director’s voice focuses. “Commander Dominic informed me.”

“I should be there, with the pilots.”

The digital display is black, motionless.

Catherine instinctively fumbles in her pockets, trying to detect the weight strapped to her hip. Dimly, she recalls setting her pistol on her computer in the command center. 

She doesn’t even know what she’d do with it, but it makes her feel comfortable. She sighs.

“You’re right. I’m sorry, ma’am.”

“Do not disobey me again, Catherine.”

“Yes, ma’am. Of course not.”

“The Beast will reach the city regardless of our intervention.”

“How do you know that?” Catherine steps forward, her bootsteps heavy and muffled in the chamber. “What do you mean?”

“Progress is too slow,” the Director says, her voice warbling and warping through audio interference. 

“Well, if the mayor hadn’t had us tied up all month with repairs, then-”

“I do not pay for excuses.”

Catherine grits her teeth. She should be with her...with her pilots. Her hands are shaking, and she clenches them to stabilize herself. “What would you have me do, then? We’ve already suspended the Aegis project-” 

“Are you recording pilot Galatea’s combat data?” 

“Yes...of course, just as you requested.”

“Switch focus to pilot Dominic.”

“Is that wise?” Catherine asks. “We’re not finished with the dummy profile-”

“Are you questioning me?” 

“No, I...no, ma’am,” Catherine swallows. “It’s just, the dummy profile is incomplete. It’s unusable.” 

“Commander Dominic will provide supplemental code, courtesy of my research.” 

“I…” Catherine’s heart pounds in her chest. “Yes, ma’am. Of course.”

“Take the time to switch the data feed before combat recommences.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

The digital display flickers, shuts off, and Catherine is again alone in the dark chamber. 

-

The sun has set behind the mountains, plunging the valley into darkness. Annette sweeps her scope across the crags and cliffs, scanning the terrain for heat. She can see Lúin’s form in full sprint, leaping over ridges as it heads towards the city. 

“Visual confirmed,” Annette breathes out. “Ingrid, you’re right behind it.”

“Switch your weapon lights on,” Shamir commands. “Annette, once you’ve got a visual lock, pursue.”

“I have a clear shot-”

“It won’t work,” Shamir says. “Cyril has been running the data.”

“It’s an antimaterial-resistant barrier,” Cyril says. “It’ll just reflect the energy pulses back at random. We can estimate probabilities, but there’s no way to compensate for potential collateral. Repeat, do not fire on the Beast.”

“Great,” Ingrid mutters, drawing her lance. The blade hums to life. “So the hard way.”

With a heavy clunk, lights switch on on Lúin’s chassis - two mounted shoulder beams casting white light out in front of it. She sweeps the beams over the crags, looking for movement. Above her, red lights twinkle, skyscrapers towering high above. 

“I see it!” she shouts, bursting into a sprint. The Beast is rapidly sprinting towards the city on all fours, tearing clods of earth and stone away from its path as it runs. No wings on this one, but that same golden mask, the same waving curtain of red beads beneath. Covering the same yawning maw of teeth and blood, no doubt. 

“Is that building evacuated?” Shamir asks over the comms.

“It doesn’t look like it, no,” reports back one of the engineers.

“Get that whole block cleared,” she says. “Galatea, you need to stop it!”

“I’m trying, I’m trying!” Ingrid digs her lance into the dirt and uses it like a pole vault, springing herself up the hillside in pursuit of the monster. She’s still too slow - the Beast careens up the hillside, smashing through a roadside guard rail and sending a car careening into the nearest building, a towering skyscraper with a wide, angular base. 

The Beast lunges into the road, thrashing wildly, its body splintering metal as it cuts through evening traffic and crashes through the glass building. 

“Ah, advise, command?” Ingrid winces, standing at the edge of the road. A cracked fire hydrant sprays water over a pileup of cars. Above them, sirens blare out in the cool, quiet night. 

“We’re issuing an emergency evac order,” Shamir says. Try to circle around and herd it back towards the ridge.”

“I’m here!” Annette shouts, Crusher finally crawling up the side of the hill and kneeling in the road as Annette gasps for breath. She slumps over in her cockpit chair, exhaling hard into the thick liquid. Bubbles swirl around her head. 

“Good,” Shamir nods. “Ingrid, try and herd it back towards Dominic. I don’t want it causing any more damage.”

“What’s the sit-rep?” Catherine’s voice cuts back into the comms. 

Annette breathes a secret sigh of relief as Catherine’s voice comes back into clarity. 

“Entered the outer city,” Cyril reports. “Some minor damage on Route 4 and heavy damage to the base of the Airmid Electronics tower.”

“Any casualties?”

“Paramedics are still responding.”

“Shit,” Catherine mutters. “Ingrid, do you have a visual on the target?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ingrid reports. “Am I clear to engage?” 

Catherine pauses for a moment. “Please be careful.”

“I’ll do my best,” Ingrid says, launching Lúin after the beast. She breaks into a sprint, leaping over cars skidded along sidewalks and vaulting into a narrow street between two office buildings. She keeps her lance pointed forwards as she runs, looking for any sign of carnage. 

“Remember, no firearms,” Shamir says. 

“I got him,” Ingrid’s grinning snarl gives way to a hoarse shout as she leaps out of the alleyway and swings her lance in a wide arc, crashing it against the side of the Beast. 

“Don’t fight it there, Ingrid!” Catherine shouts again. “Lure it away from the civilians!” 

Ingrid gasps for breath from the strain of ramming her lance into the Beast’s barrier. “H-how am I supposed to do that?” 

“Figure something out,” Catherine mutters.

Cyril’s voice crackles into the comms. “We have live video feed active for Lúin, we can provide situational analysis.”

“What?” Ingrid frowns. “What about the data colle-”

“Not now!” all three of the command center advisors shout in unison. 

“It’s retreating!” Catherine yells. “Ingrid, don’t let it get any further into the city!”

Ingrid growls in frustration, sheathing her lance over Lúin’s shoulder and breaking into a dead sprint. She lowers Lúin’s shoulder and crashes into the Beast, tackling it through one side of a narrow office building and out the other. The two sprawl onto a broad elevated highway, smashing through telephone wires and concrete barriers. 

“Good, keep it on the highway!” Catherine says. “Shamir, have the entry ramps blocked.”

Ingrid growls again and Lúin straddles the squirming beast as Ingrid rains fists down on it, her Relic’s hands crashing into the barrier and sparking off with flashes of gold. She pounds it again, and again, until the barrier starts to crack and splinter. 

“If you break through the barrier, you might be able to use firearms again,” Cyril suggests. “Galatea, keep up your assault until Dominic gets into position!”

“Annette, status report?”

“On the highway,” Annette shouts into the comms, Crusher sprinting up the ramp of an elevated highway. “Visual contact confirmed.”

“Abraxas is ready to fire,” Catherine says. “As soon as the barrier breaks, take the shot.”

“What?” Annette shouts, skidding Crusher to a halt at the top of the on-ramp, smashing through the metal scaffolding holding up highway signs. “I’ll hit Ingrid!”

“The Relic can take a hit,” Ingrid assures her. “Stopping the Beast is priority one.”

Annette shouts in frustration and drops her rifle, letting it crash into the asphalt as she sprints full-tilt towards Ingrid and the grappled Beast. 

Lúin’s fist penetrates the barrier at last, smashing into the side of the Beast’s golden mask and sending it squirming and thrashing. Blood smears across its mask as it lashes claws out, slashing Lúin and darting away. 

Annette intercepts it, snatching its tail with one hand and drawing her hammer. She smashes it into the Beast, grimacing as it howls and blood streams across the highway, splashing over the guardrail and pouring down into the city streets. 

The Beast kicks out its back legs, claws digging into Crusher’s abdomen. Annette cries out as the cockpit lurches and shakes, red liquid pouring out.

“Cockpit integrity down!” Cyril warns. 

Ingrid scrambles Lúin to its feet and fumbles to draw her lance. 

The Beast body-slams into Crusher, sending it stumbling backwards. 

“Ingrid, get in there!” Catherine shouts. 

Ingrid leaps across the highway and thrusts, driving her lance at the Beast. The blade glances off its armored spine, sparking as it ricochets through a string of power-lines. The Beast, unhindered, digs its claws into Crusher’s abdomen. It pushes the Relic down, prone, and tips its head down with a flurry of gold and beads. Its mouth sinks into Crusher’s armored frame. Thick red liquid sprays out across the Beast, painting its gold mask in shades of copper. 

“Annette!” Ingrid cries out.

“I’m...ah,” Annette winces, swallowing hard. “I’m okay-” her assertion is cut short as she screams, the Beast’s teeth piercing the shell of the cockpit.

“Cockpit breach!” Cyril shouts. 

“We know!” Ingrid cries out.

Annette grimaces, watching the edges of the chamber push in and crack. The red liquid is draining out around her. She cries out and grasps the Beast with both hands, gripping tight as she pushes Crusher backwards, smashing through the concrete barrier and dropping off the edge of the elevated highway.

“ANNETTE!” Ingrid screams. 

The Beast has no time to respond or grapple in midair - Annette rotates, rolling Crusher around so that they collide into the earth together. The Beast buckles under the Relic’s weight, its armor splintering and cracking and its flesh tearing. 

Annette’s body is torn free of her restraints. The cockpit, now mostly absent of the liquid that kept her stable, is an empty chamber, battering her as she falls. The force of the impact yanks her arms from the arm-rests and flings her into the far side of the chamber. 

She hits the wall and her vision blinks out. 

-

Annette gasps for breath and bolts upright in bed. 

She’s blinded by white lights, white walls. The infirmary. 

The motion of sitting up sends bolts of pain rippling through her body and she winces, gasping out as the pain becomes too much.

“Shh, it’s okay,” a calming voice at her side gently guides her back to rest. “It’s okay.”

Annette blinks and stares at the pure-white ceiling lit with sterile, uniform fluorescence. She had been dreaming of blood and teeth. Of falling into a void, falling and falling, changing. Splintering restraints and cracking bone. 

She lurches and gasps. 

“It’s okay,” the voice says again, gently brushing her hair back. “You’re safe.”

“I-Ingrid-!” Annette gasps weakly, recognizing the voice.

“Hey,” Ingrid smiles down at her. 

Her visage is like that of an angel - daylight framing the golden glow of her hair with a halo of light, her deep green eyes calm and kind, a relieved smile on her lips. 

Annette blinks and swallows. “W-where...did we get it?” 

“The Beast?” Ingrid laughs quietly. “Yeah, you crushed it. Really lived up to your Relic’s namesake, huh?”

It hurts to laugh. Annette swallows again, tamping down the pain in her chest. “You’re okay?”

Ingrid smiles and flashes her a thumbs up - a few adhesive bandages stick to her jaw and her hand is wrapped in a wrist brace. “Yeah, I’m fine.” She gestures to Annette’s hospital bed. “Wish I could say the same about you, though.”

Annette grimaces and blinks, her gaze shifting to her own body, covered in a thin white sheet. One arm is in a sling, pinned to her chest, and the other is wrapped in bandages. Two fingers are splinted together. Everything below her waist is a mystery, but she can at least feel her legs when she tries to move them. That’s a good sign.

“What do you remember?” Ingrid asks, sitting back down in the metal folding chair she had dragged to the bedside.

“I don’t...I don’t know,” Annette admits, rubbing her face with her unbound hand. Adhesive bandages are stuck to one temple. “We were fighting the Demonic Beast, and…” she inhales. “Catherine told me to fire at you.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid nods. “You should have followed orders. I would have been fine.”

“I wasn’t going to shoot you.” Annette stares at Ingrid sadly, too tired to argue the point. “I don’t remember anything after that. It was pretty fuzzy...I was fading in and out a little bit.”

“You leapt off the highway and squashed the Beast underneath Crusher.” Ingrid laughs, and Annette laughs too, until her chest burns and she stifles the painful movement. 

Annette coughs and blinks slowly.

“I should let you get some rest,” Ingrid says, standing up. Her hand brushes Annette’s arm. “You’ll probably be stuck her a few more days, at least.”

“Wait-” Annette says, closing her eyes. 

“Hm?”

“Can you maybe...stay, just a little bit longer?”

Ingrid’s hand is still resting on the crook of Annette’s arm. She glances at the wrist brace on her own hand, smiles at Annette and, sits back down. “Yeah, I...I think so.”

“Thanks,” Annette says, resting back against the bed. Her lips move, mumbling something as she drifts off back to sleep.

-

“Sorry you had to get discharged so quickly,” Catherine says, fishing out her wallet and pulling out her electronic key to unlock the apartment.

“It’s okay,” Annette forces a smile, her free arm holding a paper prescription bag. “If I’m just getting bedrest, I might as well be doing it at home. Save the hospital room for someone who needs it.”

“‘Atta girl,” Catherine smiles, swiping her key and opening the apartment door. “Ingrid? We’re home from the hospital.”

“Oh!” Ingrid says, leaning back from the stove. She’s dressed plainly, a simple cloth apron over athletic shorts and a sports bra. One hand is in an oven mitt, the other wrapped in her wrist brace.

“Hi!” Annette smiles, waggling her sling like a little cloth wing. 

“OH,” Ingrid says again, blushing furiously and stumbling away from the stove. “Ah, I didn’t realize you’d be getting home today, I’ll go change!” her words fade out as she scrambles back into the bedroom and slams the door shut. 

Catherine glances at Annette, who stares at the empty kitchen, blinking. Annette tilts her face away, hiding the soft pink tint in her cheeks.

“Sorry about that,” Ingrid, still blushing, opens the bedroom door and walks back out in a t-shirt, her apron folded over her arm. “I was just making some lunch.”

“It smells delicious,” Annette smiles, sitting at the table.

“Here, let me help with that,” Catherine says, helping Annette pull her jacket off over her arm. She drapes the jacket over one of the kitchen chairs. “I need to go get back to work,” she says. “Are you two okay here?”

“Yeah, of course,” Annette nods. 

“Remember to take your medicine and get some rest,” Catherine says, picking up her things and heading for the door. “I’ll be back later tonight.”

The girls wave her off and she slips out the door, shutting it behind her. 

Ingrid leans against the kitchen counter. “Are you okay? I thought you were going to stay at least another week.”

Annette shrugs and winces, her facade of comfort finally slipping now that Catherine has left. She grunts, reaching for her prescription. 

“Here, let me help,” Ingrid says, circling around the table to tear open the paper bag. “I’ve been there before, trust me.” She smiles.

“Thanks,” Annette says sheepishly. “I’ve never broken a bone before, I don’t think.”

“I’ve broken quite a few,” Ingrid unscrews the cap of her pill bottle. “And only some of them were while piloting.” She passes the bottle to Annette before sliding her chair back. “Let me get you some water-”

“No, it’s okay, I can-” Annette stands up, immediately colliding with Ingrid. She yelps and stumbles.

Ingrid catches her instinctively. 

“Ah...ow,” Annette breathes, resting in Ingrid’s arms.

“Sorry,” Ingrid says.

“No, I’m...I’m so clumsy,” Annette shakes her head. 

“Here,” Ingrid slings her arm around Annette’s back to support her. “How about you go lay down and I’ll bring it to you.”

“That...ah,” Annette grimaces again. “That sounds good.”

The two of them limp to the bedroom, Annette relaxing back into Ingrid’s arm. She’s strong and sturdy, more supportive than any crutch could be. 

“I’ll pull back the blankets, just rest here,” Ingrid sets Annette down on the bedside.

“Oh, I can just take my futon-”

Ingrid shakes her head and unmakes the bed. “Absolutely not, you’re hurt and need to recover.” 

She positions pillows against the back headboard and helps Annette settle in, gently pulling the blankets up around her and tucking her in. 

“Is that comfortable?”

“Yeah,” Annette nods, closing her eyes. “T-thanks.”

“I’ll get you your medicine and some water,” Ingrid says. “And then you should get some rest.”

It hurts to breathe, but the pillows and blankets are soft and warm - much nicer than the stiff, plasticky hospital beds. And no smell of antiseptic, either. She buries herself in the pillows and inhales deeply. It smells like Ingrid. 

The door opens again and Ingrid sets a glass of water and the pill bottle on the nightstand. “I’ll be just outside in the kitchen if you need me, okay?” She gently pats Annette’s shoulder. “Get some sleep.”

Annette manages to choke down a pill before settling back into the bed again. “Mm,” she mumbles. “T-thanks…”

The last thing Annette sees before her eyes close is Ingrid standing in the doorway, gazing softly at her.

-

“Sorry, it’ll sting.”

Annette winces as Ingrid dabs her split eyebrow with a wet cloth. It smells like peroxide and burns where it touches. 

“Sorry,” Ingrid says again, wiping away the pinkish froth and cleaning it. She’s already in her plugsuit, ready for the day’s training. 

Annette was called to work, but no one really expected her to do any piloting, least of all with her broken arm. She sits on a bench in the locker room while Ingrid stoops over her, cleaning and rebandaging her scrapes and cuts. 

“Do you know what they’re going to have you doing today?” Ingrid asks, trying to keep Annette’s thoughts away from the feeling of stinging chemicals. 

Annette grimaces and lurches away from Ingrid’s touch instinctively. “Ah, ouch-”

“Sorry,” Ingrid mutters again, setting her cloth on the bench. “It’ll hurt, but I’m going to put some antibiotic ointment on it.”

Annette nods.

“I don’t know why I was called in,” Annette admits, her good arm bracing herself against the bench. She hooks her arms underneath the edge and squeezes it nervously as Ingrid stoops over her, her thick golden braid draped over one shoulder. “Catherine didn’t say anything.”

“Yeah, she’s not exactly...open with information, huh,” Ingrid says wryly, finishing up her first aid by sticking adhesive bandages over the cleaned wounds. “Do you need to replace the gauze here, do you think?” she brushes one finger gently across Annette’s cheek, inches above the gauze taped to the angle of her jaw.

“I’m okay,” Annette swallows. “Th...thank you.”

“Of course,” Ingrid stands up and begins repacking her first aid kit before dropping it into her locker. “I think Cyril’s just going to be running me through some diagnostic tests today,” she says, shutting her locker. “Would you want to get dinner after, maybe?”

“Yeah,” Annette smiles, brushing her hair back over her shoulders. “That sounds nice.”

The locker room door opens and Shamir strolls through, cigarette pinned between two fingers and a clipboard under one arm. “Come on, Galatea. We need you to get to work.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Ingrid says, standing at attention and giving a stiff half-bow. 

It’s amazing, Annette thinks as she watches Ingrid follow Shamir out of the room. How quickly Ingrid can snap to attention, stand up straight and be all ‘yes ma’am’ and ‘no ma’am’. And here Annette is, sometimes unable to remember exactly what anyone’s title or job is. She fishes around in her locker and picks up her inhaler. She shrugs and drops it back in before slamming the door shut. 

She follows the hallway towards the bank of elevators and steps inside, into the sheet metal and soft, uniform fluorescence. She punches the button for her father’s office floor. 

Office seems like a strange choice of words. 

The elevator descends, slow and rumbling, the pulley churning against the uneven metal of the elevator shaft. She rests back against the wall, staring blankly at the silver door.

Catherine is waiting for her at the exit, a bundle of manila folders under one arm and a floppy disc in the other hand. She smiles at Annette as she walks out of the elevator.

“Commander Dominic is going to be happy to see you,” she says as they walk down the hallway. 

“I don’t care,” Annette says blankly. No more words are spoken until they reach Commander Dominic’s office. 

As always, the office is dark. He’s sitting at his desk, waiting. 

Catherine slides the door shut behind them and stands by it, waiting against the wall as Annette approaches her father. 

Her footsteps are loud and echoing in the darkened office. She tips her head down, staring at the desk rather than her father’s face. One arm down, her hand curled into a fist, the other pinned to her chest in her sling. 

Gilbert closes a folder he’s working on and looks up.

“Hello, Annette.”

“Father.”

Gilbert purses his lips and inhales through his nose. “I was reading over the battle reports. Good work.”

Annette’s face twists into a scowl. “What?”

“You did well.”

“I…” Annette repeats, taken aback. “I did...How can you say that?” she frowns, stepping closer. “I  _ ‘did well’ _ ? That’s all you have to say to me?!”

“Annette, I-”

“No! I can’t believe you. I can’t believe that you’d treat me like a stranger for so long.” Annette’s fist clenches tighter, tight enough for her nails to dig into her palm. “And now all you have to say to me is ‘good work’?” She huffs. “Yes, Father, I am okay. Not that you care.”

“Annette, please, I-”

“Is that what you called me here for?” Annette clenches her teeth. “To tell me I did a good job? I don’t even know what job I’m doing!” 

Her voice echoes into the darkness of the chamber. Against the back wall, Catherine folds her arms over her chest, her expression unchanged.

“I’m sorry, Annette.” Gilbert rests his hands on his desk. He sighs. 

“If you’re done, I would like to leave.”

Gilbert stares at her sadly. 

Annette’s clenching jaw pulses pain in her skull, but she refuses to gasp. She refuses to show any weakness, anything but staunch, defiant resolve, even with her arm pinned to her torso.

“Tell me, Father. What are the Relics?” She exhales. 

The room is silent. If Catherine reacts, Annette cannot see it. She huffs.

“I take your silence as your answer.” 

“Annette, there are things you don’t understand…”

“I don’t understand anything, because you won’t  _ tell _ me anything!” Annette cries, blinking back tears. “You left me, Father! You left Mother and I both, and you won’t even tell me why. And now you will speak to me only if I do a good job?” The pain is too much and she grimaces, stifling a gasp. “I can’t believe you.” Annette turns and limps out of the office, walking past Catherine, still leaning against the doorway. The door slides shut and Annette is alone in the dark hallway. 

-

“You okay, kid?”

Annette sits in the emergency stairwell, slumped over. Her head is empty, her eyes distant. Catherine’s voice slides off her head. 

“Hey. Annette.”

Annette looks up. 

Catherine stands over her, both hands in her jacket pockets. “I, ah...I talked to Commander Dominic,” she says sheepishly. When she moves, Annette can see her pistol in its holster on her hip. “I understand that you’re angry with him, but he’s your superior. You need to treat him with respect.”

“It’s not like he treats me with any.”

Catherine sighs and sits next to her on the stairs. Each set of steps above and below them is lit with bare bulbs in wire boxes. Stenciled paint on the walls declares the floor level. Every sound echoes up and down, forever. Into the infinite void, as far as Annette knows or cares. Catherine purses her lips.

“If this is his attempt to get closer to me, he’s a fool,” Annette picks at her boots. 

Catherine laughs. “Maybe so.” She gently pats Annette’s shoulder. “He asked me to show you something.”

“What?”

“He admitted that you’re right,” Catherine says, staring at the stenciled lettering on the wall. “He wants me to show you the purpose of the SEIROS project. He thinks you should know.”

Annette rolls her eyes. “Can’t even be bothered to show me himself.”

Catherine stands and offers her hand to Annette. “Come on. It’s a bit of a trip.” 

They follow the winding maze of hallways back to the bank of elevators before calling one of them up. Catherine fishes out her ID card. Once inside, she swipes it through a card reader above the floor selection panel and presses an unlabeled red button. 

“The sublevels are for Clearance Level 4 only,” Catherine says, putting her card back in her wallet. “Only the director and those given clearance are meant to be there.”

“Is it okay that I’m going?” Annette frowns. 

“You’re with me,” Catherine says somberly. “If you tried to do this on your own, best case scenario you’d be court-martialed.”

“Worst case scenario?”

“Shot on sight by SEIROS security.”

“Ah.”

“It’s important that you don’t say a word of what you’re going to see to anyone.”

“Even Ingrid?”

“Even Ingrid.”

The elevator hums to life and begins to descend. Annette watches the floor counter above the door change as they descend, further and further. The numbers stop updating, eventually, only lit with a single red display.  _ S1 _ . It takes an agonizingly long time to reach  _ S2 _ .

How far down does the SEIROS facility go? How deep in the mountain are they now? Annette’s heart pounds and her throat feels tight. With each passing second, she can feel the motion of their descent in her sinking stomach. 

“There’s nothing to be nervous about,” Catherine assures her.

Annette’s gaze lingers on the way Catherine’s hand rests casually on the grip of her pistol. 

There’s a clank of machinery and a rush of air through the door as it slides to a halt. Annette stares at the digital display.

_ NT. _

“Nabatea is the core of the SEIROS project,” Catherine says, swiping her ID card again. The door slides open with a mechanical hiss, opening to a concrete ramp down further, into a dark abyss. Annette steps out of the elevator and swivels her head. She can see the concrete elevator shaft extending upwards into infinite darkness. The air feels thick and heavy here. Warm, but Annette can’t help but shiver. She holds herself as they walk down the concrete ramp.

She wants to ask Catherine what’s out there, in the darkness, but she doesn’t want to speak.

Catherine leads her down the ramp as it levels out above a sea of shallow, thick red. Annette stares at the liquid, watching it lap against the concrete platform like blood. Not like blood - like the cockpit fluid, the same thing she breathes whenever she pilots. The thing Ingrid is likely submerged in even as they walk. 

Annette steps closer to Catherine, trying to keep her breathing level and even. The whole abyss smells like the Relic cockpit - musty and bloody and oppressive. She stares at the red liquid, seeing shapes beneath the surface. 

Landscape rises from the sea, sloping up. The ground is rocky, jagged, bone-white. Not like any cave floor Annette had ever seen or heard of. She steps closer to Catherine and peers at the rocky surface.

“C-Catherine,” she whispers hoarsely.

“We’re almost there,” Catherine says.

“Catherine,” Annette says again.

“I know.”

“Oh...oh, my god-” Annette stammers, lifting her free, shaking hand to her mouth. “T-they’re-”

“Bones, yes,” Catherine says, standing still. She stares upwards at the sloping pile. 

Not just bones, but the shape of bodies - tangled, desperate, clawing, their skeleton frames reaching upwards, outwards. Ascending the hill. Annette follows their grasping hands, looking up into the darkness. 

Laying upon the pile of bones is something else entirely - something strange and horrifying and inhuman. Something Annette recognizes immediately - a Relic.

Rather, half of a Relic. A massive, humanoid shape, severed beneath the ribcage, a jagged column of vertebrae draping down. Two clawed arms, limp at its sides. The Relic is pinned to the pile by a massive sword plunged through its chest.

Annette’s body shakes. Her heart pounds. Her throat feels tight. She can’t say anything.

The Relic towers above them, lord over a mountain of death. Its head is vacant - where a face ought to be, there is abyss. A gaping black maw set into its horned head. 

Annette stares at the dark void of the Relic’s face, trembling, frozen with fear. 

“Annette?” Catherine’s voice sounds muted and distant. “Annette-”

The Relic is staring back. Without eyes, without a face, it gazes down from its osteon throne.

Annette collapses to the concrete.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, chapter illustrations are done by the wonderful @jireemblem on twitter. And @shenyun5000 has done some absolutely PHENOMENAL art of the Sword of the Creator! You can check that (and all their other fantastic art) out at https://twitter.com/shenyun5000/status/1248452952307544065?s=20


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette recovers from the injuries she sustained in the last battle and meets the mysterious professor of the Adrestian class. Catherine announces the arrival of the third Relic pilot.

Annette has the dreams again. They’re worse, this time, devouring mouths and streaming blood. Drowning, clawing, scrambling her way out and collapsing into piles of bones, unable to get her footing, tearing at the bloody hair that sticks to her face. 

She’s wearing a mask. Metal banding, restraints, and then she claws herself free. Above her, above her private nightmare, the sun hangs dark in the sky, a ring of red around an eclipsing moon. Not a moon - a hole, a void, a slot where something ought to go. Abyss, staring down at her. 

Annette gasps for breath and bolts upright in bed, swiping at her sweat-sticky hair. She’s gasping, hyperventilating, clutching herself tightly as she rocks back and forth.

A comforting voice beside her, and a gentle touch that she reacts to with fear. She pushes back against the voice and squirms away, falling off the edge of the bed and landing on the floor with a dull, painful thump.

“It’s okay!” Ingrid’s voice comes in clearly, now. She scrambles off the bed and kneels at Annette’s side, gently scooping her up, cooing softly. “It’s okay. It’s okay. You’re okay.”

Annette gasps for breath, grasping out to latch onto something, anything, a life raft until her world stabilizes. She clutches to Ingrid desperately, blinking back tears. Her broken arm aches but it’s not worth pulling away from Ingrid’s embrace.

“Wh-where am I?” Annette manages to choke out.

“You’re at home,” Ingrid coos softly, stroking her hair. “You were having a nightmare.” 

“A n-nightmare,” Annette repeats, staring at the window. “A nightmare.”

“Yeah,” Ingrid says, pulling away slowly. “A bad dream.”

Annette leans into her, resting her head against Ingrid’s shoulder, breathing slowly. She closes her eyes, tries to normalize her breathing, her heart rate. She sees blood and bones and teeth when she closes her eyes. 

“Catherine said you collapsed at SEIROS, so she brought you back to rest,” Ingrid continues. “You’ve been asleep for a few hours.” She laughs wryly. “Maybe you’re not well enough to return to work just yet.”

Annette nods, half-excusing the motion of nuzzling the crook of Ingrid’s neck. “ rest sounds nice…” she opens her eyes, relieved to see that the bedroom is bright and clean and warm. The orange light of the setting sun comes through the curtains. She frowns. 

“Ah...sorry, I guess I'll be missing our dinner date, huh.”

Ingrid laughs and helps Annette to her feet before guiding her back into the bed. “It’s fine,” she says, gently resting Annette back against the headboard. “It’s more important that you rest.”

Annette smiles at her and watches as she crosses the bedroom and shuts the door behind her. 

-

Annette’s recovery is slow, slower than any of them would like. No piloting until her arm is healed, so she does nothing at SEIROS but simulations and data recording, sitting in the cockpit while her Relic stands motionless in the SEIROS docking facility. If nothing else, it gives her a spectacular view of the anthill of motion, workers turning the cave from something rocky and barren to something that looks more like what a command center  _ should _ look like.

No more mobile command facility - a real command facility is constructed, chiseled out of the rock and fixed with computer banks and thick panes of shatter-proof windows. The makeshift metal scaffolding is replaced with real Relic docks, complete with power supplies, launch mechanisms, diagnostics tools, and emergency first aid stations. 

Ingrid’s dock is constructed first, and then Annette’s, and then a third, empty. And then a fourth. Annette watches with curiosity as metal paneling is put into place and wiring is hooked up. 

School goes slowly, too - without their afternoon sparring sessions to look forward to, Annette’s classwork drags. She spaces out in class, doodling circles in her notebook, scraping by with Ashe’s tutoring and sheer, dumb luck. She grimaces at C- exams and crumples them up, throwing them into the trash before Catherine can see them.

It’s fruitless, of course - Catherine, as acting guardian, has access to both of their class records.

Ingrid is never less than flawless - straight A’s in all her coursework, in the running for valedictorian of their class division. And Annette lags behind. Even with her medication, it’s so hard to focus. Not when she can stare out the window at the clear blue skies and the sparkling towers and think about piloting.

It’s always been terrifying, something that tugs at her gut and roils her stomach, but before there was something else, a secret pride. She was doing  _ good _ , wasn’t she? Despite her fear, despite her dread. But now she can’t think of piloting without thinking of that...that skeleton frame, pierced with a massive sword. She can’t climb into the cockpit without wondering if she’s breathing that same thick, red liquid that laps up against the shore of bone. She looks into herself and sees the dark abyss staring out. 

But life goes on - after the last disastrous battle, there’s little motion and little call to battle, fortunately giving Annette’s arm time to heal. 

She stretches, crackling her joints and working out the stiffness as she sits down in the dining hall.

Ingrid drops her tray with a clatter, sitting at Annette’s side. 

“Hey,” Annette smiles.

“Hey,” Ingrid nods before gesturing at her arm. “How’s it going?”

“Good, I think,” Annette stretches it again. “I got some x-rays this morning but Catherine said I should be good to-” Her eyes dart upwards at Ashe, approaching with his own lunch tray. “I should be good to go back to work,” Annette course-corrects.

“Good!” Ingrid smiles. “I missed having you. Any word on sparring?” 

Annette shakes her head. “Not until I get the okay from Catherine.” 

“Aw,” Ingrid pouts. She stares at Annette’s lunch. “Does that mean I can have your-”

“No,” Annette sighs, tugging her tray back. “I need nutrients to heal, remember?” 

“Hey, friends,” Ashe smiles, sitting across from them. “Good afternoon.”

“Hey, Ashe!” Annette grins back. “How do you think you did on the history exam?”

“Fine,” Ashe replies, picking up his sandwich. “How about you? I know you were really struggling with some of the dates.”

“I...dunno,” Annette admits. “I tried really hard, and even met Professor Hanneman during his office hours, but I still...ugh, that essay question was so hard!”

“What about you, Ingrid?” Ashe asks, turning to her. 

Ingrid says nothing, staring off into the corner of the dining hall.

“Hey, Ingrid-” Annette asks.

“Hm? What?” Ingrid frowns. 

“Are you okay? You seem kind of upset.”

“Yeah, I’m…” Ingrid stands up, leaving her tray. “I’ll be right back.”

“O...okay,” Annette says, watching her pace across the dining hall.

“Not like her to leave her food,” Ashe shrugs.

-

“Felix,” Ingrid says as she approaches.

Felix turns, his eyes darkening as she approaches. “What.”

“I just…” Ingrid exhales. She should have practiced saying something, maybe. “I wanted to see how you’re doing. I haven’t been seeing you in class or around campus.”

“Did you know?” Felix asks, frowning.

“Did I know…?” Ingrid asks, surprised. “Did I know what?”

“Glenn.”

Ingrid’s stomach turns. 

Felix shakes his head. “He...that’s what he was doing, wasn’t it?” Felix curls his hand into a fist, struggling to come up with words and filling the void with tensing muscle and grinding teeth. “Did you know?” 

“I…”

“Did you know, Ingrid?” 

Ingrid stares at him, her jaw trembling. She tries to well up something to say. Something to tell him. It would be easy to lie, maybe.  _ No. I didn’t know anything. He never talked about his work. _

If she told the truth, then what?  _ Yes, sorry your brother died taking part in a secret pseudo-military experimental defense project. I’m also a part of it, but we’re not allowed to talk about it, so I’ve kept you in the dark. _

Felix stands up, angrily swiping his tray off the table. “Never mind.” 

“Felix…” Ingrid calls after him weakly. 

He stops at the sound of her voice, his head tipped down. 

“I’m...I’m sorry,” Ingrid says, approaching slowly, like one would approach a cornered animal. She gently touches his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Felix’s hands are shaking. His jaw is clenched, his body tense. Anger pulses through him. “How could he...how could he keep this from us?” 

“I...I don’t know.” Ingrid gently loops her arm around Felix’s. “I’m sorry.”

“Do you know what my father said?” Felix snaps, pulling away. “He said he was proud of Glenn. That he died a hero.” He drops his tray heavily on the tray return and stalks away, still tense, still angry. 

Ingrid licks her lips, giving him distance before following. 

He leaves the dining hall and takes the stairs down to the fountain, towering over it, staring at the water. 

Ingrid approaches slowly before lifting her hand to touch his shoulder. “Felix.”

“Don’t touch me,” he turns away. 

She pulls back, dropping her hand to her side. “Felix, I…” Ingrid’s voice falters, cracking. “There’s something I need to tell you-” 

Her voice is hoarse, too quiet to be heard by a man walking away. 

-

Neither Ingrid nor Felix are in class that afternoon. 

The clock chimes, signaling the hour, and all of the students begin packing up their things. Annette stuffs her papers and books into her messenger bag before slinging it over her shoulder. 

Beside her, Ashe neatly tidies up his notes before slipping them into his own backpack. 

“I’m going to talk to Professor Hanneman,” Annette says, standing up and scooting away from her seat. “I’ll catch up with you later, okay?”

“Yeah, of course,” Ashe waves her off. “I’ll text you.”

Annette smiles and waves before descending the steps, weaving between exiting students and making her way up to the professor’s podium.

Hanneman is squinting at the open laptop on his podium, prodding it like one might prod roadkill to make sure its dead.

“Hey, Professor Hanneman,” Annette says nervously as she approaches.

“Ah! Miss Fantine,” he says, closing the laptop. “I’m glad to see your arm has healed. How can I help you?”

“I, um, I just had some questions about the homework,” she says nervously. “I don’t think I did really well on the test this morning, and I wanted to make sure I understood the essay question.”

“Ah,” Hanneman nods, slipping his laptop into his worn leather briefcase. “On the contrary, I finished grading up during the lunch period, and you did quite admirably.” He fishes out a piece of paper and passes it to her. “Not perfect, but a marked improvement, for sure.”

Annette stares at the big ‘B+’ scribbles at the top in red marker, genuinely surprised. “Oh!” she blinks. “I guess all that studying helped.”

“Indeed it did,” Hanneman nods, finishing packing up. “Now, was there something else you needed?” 

“I don’t think so,” Annette shakes her head. “Have a nice weekend, Professor.”

“You as well,” Hanneman nods.

Annette spins and walks up the now-empty classroom, her cheeks tinged red, pride bubbling in her chest. 

“Ah, Miss Fantine?” Hanneman calls up after her.

She whirls so quickly she stumbles, barely able to catch herself on the back of one of the seats. “Hm?” she coughs, trying to cover up her stumble. “Something wrong?”

“I just realized my colleague seems to have left some of their belongings in this classroom,” Hanneman says, squinting at the podium. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry this afternoon, could I possibly trouble you to return it to them?”

“Oh, of course!” Annette smiles. Always willing to lend a hand, especially since she’s in such a good mood. 

Hanneman fishes some things out of the podium drawer - a few fish-shaped flash drives on a keyring. “I believe this belongs to Professor Eisner.”

Annette accepts the ring gingerly. “I’m not familiar, unfortunately.”

“They’re the new professor,” Hanneman nods, gesturing at his own hair. “Dark blue hair, always wearing that black jacket?”

Realization dawns on Annette. “Oh! Yes, I think I’ve seen them around campus.”

“Their office is right across from mine in the staff building,” Hanneman says, pulling on his jacket. “You should be able to find them there, and if not, you can leave it in their mailbox.”

“Okay!” Annette smiles. “You can count on me, professor!”

It’s a beautiful afternoon, warm and breezy, the sky dotted with cotton-candy white clouds as Annette treks across campus, making her way up winding concrete staircases and towards the staff building. It’s located across the bridge, the only building over that direction. Rumors abound about the old building - that it had been a cathedral ages ago, before being demolished by a Demonic Beast attack. Allegedly, students said - often over beers - tunnels ran beneath the building, winding deep into the mountains. 

Ridiculous, Annette, thinks, crossing the bridge. A chill wind sweeps over her, ruffling her hair and cutting through her thin jacket. She stops at the midpoint of the bridge and stares out over the valley, across the shining silver city and the mountains sloping downwards out of view. What had Catherine called it? 

_ The most advanced city in all of Fódlan.  _

Someone shoulders past her roughly, obviously in a hurry. Annette spins, colliding with the oncoming student and sending them both sprawling to the ground.

“Ah, I’m sorry!” Annette stammers, scrambling around. Wind blows across the bridge, stirring up the student’s dropped papers. 

Annette scrambles to snatch them out of the air before they drift off the bridge. She lunges forward to snatch a piece of paper and catches it at the same time as the other student.

A girl with piercing, pale eyes stares at her. White hair drapes down her shoulders, fluttering in the wind. 

“I’m so sorry,” Annette stammers again, trying to pass her handful of crumpled papers across. “Gosh, I’m such a klutz-”

“It’s fine, really,” the other girl says, her voice stern. Not stiff, but comforting in its presence. She holds out her white-gloved hand. “Thank you for helping me catch them.”

“Of course,” Annette says. She frowns, catching a glimpse of the girl’s pale skin, the narrow band of flesh between her glove and the cuff of her sleeve. Against the white skin - dark red pinprick scars. Something familiar. Annette can’t help but glance at her own hands - red dots on her wrists, hidden beneath the cuffs of her jacket. 

“Is that...all?” the girl asks curiously, pulling back.

“Ah, yes, sorry,” Annette says nervously, rubbing the back of her head and grinning. “Your, uh - your red lapel pin? Are you a member of the Adrestian class?”

“Yes,” the girl says.

“So you’re one of Professor Eisner’s students, right?” Annette asks, fussing with her messenger bag. “Are they at their office?”

“Yes,” the girl says. “I’m sorry, I really must be on my way.”

“Yes, yes, of course!” Annette stammers. “Don’t let me keep you.”

The girl shuffles by, her white hair fluttering behind her. Annette clutches her bag to her chest, staring at her. 

_ Red pinpricks _ , huh.

Professor Eisner’s office is on the top floor of the faculty building; and, as promised, across from Hanneman’s. Annette takes the elevator up, nervously tapping her foot the whole way. Maybe it’s a coincidence. Maybe it’s something else. Maybe her eyes were playing tricks on her. Who  _ was _ that girl, and why did she have-

The elevator dings and Annette steps out into the hallway. Light streams in the window at the far end of the hallway, casting shadows across the row of metal doors. Annette keeps her head down, scanning the doors for names.

_ Casagranda, M. _

_ Eisner, B. _

_ von Essar, H. _

Wait, back one. 

Annette knocks on the door nervously. There’s no response, but light comes from the crack under the door. She knocks again. 

The light under the doorway shifts, the shadow of an approaching form.

Annette swallows. Was Professor Eisner the one watching her and Ingrid spar? Why? 

The door opens.

Eisner is tall, slender, with bright, curious eyes that widen in surprise when they see Annette standing in the doorway.

“Ah, Professor Eisner?” Annette says sheepishly. Of course that’s their name. It’s on the damn door. 

“Call me Byleth,” Byleth says. 

“Okay.” Annette huffs a confident breath. “Professor Hanneman found this, um, keyring,” she fumbles in her pockets, “in the podium in Lecture Hall 3C, in the science building.” She produces the ring of flash drives and presents it.

“Oh!” Byleth says. “I didn’t realize I had lost it.” Something about the way they speak sets Annette on edge - the flat tone, perhaps, or the way their face doesn’t seem to change naturally. It’s almost like a delay between their speaking and their emoting, and it makes Annette immensely disquieted. She stares nervously at the floor. 

“Thank you, Annette.”

Annette frowns. “How do you know my name?”

Byleth gestures to Hanneman’s office. “I heard you here the other day. History, was it?”

“Um…yeah,” Annette says anxiously. She backs away. “Um...I...that’s all.”

“Of course,” Byleth says. “I’m sure you’re busy.”

“Y...yeah,” Annette replies, glancing up at Byleth. Why does their face make her so nervous? They’re tall, sure, but lots of people are taller than Annette. She’s always been nervous in front of authority figures, but this isn’t anxiety. 

It’s  _ fear _ . She’s  _ afraid _ of Professor Eisner. 

Their blank stare - uncritical, observant, hungry. Wide eyes, black abyssal pools of pupils.

Annette swallows. 

She can smell blood. Everything feels cold and dark, and she stares at that thing again. The sword pinning it to its grave of bones. Its blank, void face. 

Annette stumbles away, every neuron in her brain firing, telling her to run. She does, slamming into a potted plant and ricocheting off it, dashing for the elevator doors. She doesn’t stop moving until she hammers the Close Doors button, and then she’s safe - in a cube of metal with soft radio playing from somewhere overhead.

She can see her reflection in the silver door - distorted by the metal’s sheen, but undeniably  _ her _ , with her tangled, windswept orange hair and her fearful green eyes. 

She exhales, trying to calm her breathing, her thundering heart. 

The door opens and another professor walks in, greeting her with a ‘hello’ before pushing the button for the ground floor.

-

Catherine is sitting at the table when Ingrid and Annette arrive home, a laptop and paperwork spread out before her, a cell phone nestled in the crook of her neck. An ashtray crammed with cigarette butts rests on the table next to her, another cigarette pinned between her fingers. 

“Yes, I know, I’m...no, I know. I’m going over the profiles now.” She grimaces and flips through a packet of papers. “I thought you said there was another one with the...yes, him.” She looks up and waves as Ingrid and Annette walk through the door. “Look, I’ll call you back,” she says into the phone. “They just got home, yeah.” She snaps the phone shut. “Hey!” 

“What was that all about?” Ingrid asks, kneeling by the door to unlace her boots. 

“Ah, you know,” Catherine shrugs and puts out her cigarette. 

“Work stuff?” Annette asks.

“You know it,” Catherine gathers up her folders and shuts her laptop. “Hey, you kids want to go out or something tonight?”

“Why?” Ingrid asks, frowning. “You’ve never offered to take us out before.”

“Well, you’ve both been doing a great job. And we haven’t had a Beast attack in some time, so SEIROS gave us a small bonus.”

“‘Us’?” Ingrid repeats incredulously. “Annette and I as well?”

“Well, no,” Catherine admits. She smiles. “But I’m buying.” 

Ingrid and Annette glance at each other nervously. 

Catherine stacks her work on top of her laptop and gestures. “Well, go on, get changed and all that, unless you want to go out in your school uniforms.”

Ingrid shrugs and Annette watches her pad towards the bedroom. Annette drops her bag by the table and glances at Catherine’s work.

“What are you working on?”

“Classified,” Catherine says curtly, putting her things in a bag and buckling it shut. “Sorry, it’s…”

“It’s the third Relic, isn’t it?”

Catherine licks her lips. “Th...the third.”

“Yeah,” Annette says, nervously wringing her hands. “I wondered when you’d finally finish it.”

“It’s not done yet,” Catherine sighs, picking up her jacket and wrapping it around herself. The bedroom door opens and she audibly relaxes.

“You’re up,” Ingrid says, beckoning Annette towards the door. 

She’s wearing a button-up shirt and black slacks, and Annette chooses a flowery sun-dress, an attempt to enjoy the warm weather before autumn comes. 

Catherine leads them out and down to the parking lot, past her car and towards the train station. Annette rests one hand on her handbag, nervously checking. Pills, inhaler, wallet. She idly wonders if Catherine is carrying a gun. 

Is  _ Ingrid _ ? Does Ingrid own a gun? Should Annette? 

Annette swallows nervously as she taps her plastic train pass.

The sun hangs low in the sky, sparkling orange off the edges of skyscrapers as they take the train downtown, past office buildings and concrete plazas bordered with delicately manicured foliage. Annette sits against the window, watching the city roll by. She can see Catherine and Ingrid’s reflections chatting in the window, their mouths moving but their voices inaudible. She adjusts her headphones and clicks her tape player, rewinding the tape.

She can’t help but think about how different the city looks from here on the elevated tracks, above city streets teeming with life. Pedestrians, commuters, cars, bikes, children. No siren blaring into the sky. No beasts, no crashing concrete and shattering glass. No blood, splashed across buildings and pooling in the street.

Something taps Annette’s shoulder and she yelps, leaping back from the window.

“Our stop’s next,” Catherine tells her. “You okay?”

“Huh?” Annette blinks. “Yeah, sorry, just...spacing out.”

“Well, look alive,” Ingrid grins, pulling her to her feet. “Free dinner!”

Annette forces a laugh as the train pulls into the station with a screech. The doors open with a pneumatic hiss. 

_ Center Street Station. Please watch your step as you depart the train. _

They take the stairs down to street level as the sun sinks behind the buildings and the city lights come on. Red lights on the buildings, streetlights, cars passing, streetlights changing. Life, everywhere. Annette and Ingrid walk side by side, behind Catherine as she lights another cigarette.

Ingrid’s fingertips brush against Annette’s hand and she blushes, turning away and pulling back to comb her fingers through her hair. No braid this evening, but her hair is up. Annette hides a half-smile, turning to look at the dark river as they cross over a bridge. 

“Where are we going?” 

Catherine takes her cigarette out of her mouth. “Ah, I’m not actually sure. A Dagdan place on the riverwalk.” 

“You don’t know where we’re going?”

“We’re meeting someone there.”

The riverwalk is colorful and lively, a brick walkway bordered with thick concrete balustrades overlooking the black river. Water laps at the sides as the occasional small boat passes by. The walk is lined with shops and restaurants of all sorts - bars, nightclubs with neon signs, hole-in-the-wall restaurants, noodle shops and open-air counters. Everything is noisy and colorful and so very  _ intense _ , enough for Annette’s eyes to unfocus as she walks. 

“Hey, watch your step,” Ingrid says, taking her hand and tugging her out of the way right before she plows head-first into a uniformed deliveryman. 

“S-sorry!” Annette stammers, half at the man and half at Ingrid.

“Ah, here we are,” Catherine says, gesturing. A bright neon sign illuminates an awning above an open-air counter, the sign covered with strange - Dagdan? - characters. “I think we have a reservation.”

“You  _ think _ ?” Ingrid asks, keeping her hand tight around Annette’s as the three of them duck through a curtain and into the back of the restaurant. It’s smoky, dimly lit, all red cloth and gilded edges and bead curtains. Music comes from somewhere, muffled speakers playing tinny foreign music Annette has never heard before.

At the back, sitting with her legs crossed and her arms up around the back of the booth, is Shamir, still in her work uniform. She lifts a gloves hand and salutes as the trio walks in. 

Annette glances at Ingrid, who glances back. 

She seems to notice where her hand is, finally, and yanks her fingers away, curling her hands into nervous fists. “Ah,” Ingrid blushes. “Um.”

Annette pretends not to notice as they weave around tables and to the back booth.

“Took you long enough,” Shamir remarks as Catherine slips into the booth. 

“Did you order me a drink?”

“Order it yourself.” 

Catherine laughs and slips her jacket off before beckoning Ingrid and Annette into the booth. “Come on, file in. Get whatever you want, it’s going on the company card.”

“It is?” Ingrid frowns, shuffling in behind Annette. 

Catherine gestures to Shamir. “We’re talking business. It’s a work event.” 

Shamir grins and tips her glass back, swallowing a mouthful of a dark brown liquid. 

“I’ll just have a water, then,” Ingrid says as the server takes their orders. “And…” she thumbs through the menu. “The beef bowl, and can I get that with extra beef? And also a side of rice. Thanks,” Ingrid smiles.

Annette flips through the menu anxiously, the words blurring under the stress of mental stimulus. She desperately looks for words she recognizes, food she likes. “I’ll, um...I…”

Ingrid leans in, close enough that her head brushes Annette’s shoulder, and points. “How about the noodle soup? It’s really good.”

“Yeah!” Annette says, relieved to have the decision made for her. “Yes, that sounds perfect.”

“So,” Shamir says, setting down her empty glass. “Business.”

“Oh, come on,” Catherine gripes. “Can’t we at least eat first?”

“We need to tell them.”

Annette and Ingrid glance at each other. 

“Did the Director make a decision?” Shamir asks, her hand still wrapped around her glass. 

“Yes,” Catherine swallows, wishing she had her own drink. “The third pilot will be here within the week for preliminary diagnostics.” 

“Third pilot?” Ingrid frowns, leaning on the table. “What third pilot?”

Catherine shushes her as the server brings their drinks. When they’re alone again, she lifts her glass. “I’d make a toast, but I don’t know to what.” She slugs back a gulp. “Good work, kids. Eat up, you’ve earned it.”

Annette picks at the tablecloth nervously. “Um, Miss Nevrand?”

“Chief Engineer Nevrand,” Catherine laughs, setting her drink down. 

“You can call me Shamir,” Shamir corrects. Catherine wraps her arm around her and tugs her into a half-embrace. Shamir, scowling, pushes her back. 

“I thought we were on the clock.”

Ingrid gives an embarrassed cough, prompting Catherine to pull away. Shamir picks up her glass again and stares into it as she speaks.

“We’re nearing construction on the third Relic,” she continues before taking another drink. She sets her empty glass at the edge of the table. “So naturally, we’ll be bringing in a third pilot.”

“A third pilot?” Ingrid asks. “Who?”

“Miss Shamir?” Annette asks again, quietly. 

“What is it, Annette?” Catherine asks.

“Is it the girl with white hair?” 

Catherine frowns and looks at Shamir, genuine confusion in her eyes. 

“The...what?” Shamir asks, leaning forwards. She glances at Catherine, then back at Annette. “What girl?”

“A girl at school…” Annette trails off, feeling foolish. “Ah, I just...I thought she might...um.” She stares at the tablecloth. “N-never mind.”

Catherine looks at her gravely. “Annette, who are you talking about?” 

Annette curls her hands over her knees, squeezing. “I, um.” 

She’s saved from having to answer by their server returning, tray loaded up with dinner. Work talk dissolves quickly amongst the idle chatter, the clink of utensils against bowls and plates, a clatter of glasses, filled and refilled as the four of them eat.

Annette watches Ingrid as she practically inhales her dinner, picking up her bowl with one hand and shoveling food into her mouth with a pair of chopsticks, no doubt hungry from the day’s sparring session. 

Shamir fights off Catherine as she tries to poach pieces of her dinner with chopsticks, her movements precise and targeted even as her glass of liquor is filled time and again. 

Annette eats slowly, taking it all in. The strange comfort of feeling like they’re having a normal meal. Different than dried noodles cooked up by an exhausted Catherine, different than instant meals consumed at the command center while Shamir lectures them about new tech, different than sitting in the dining hall. There’s an intimacy to it, a familiar, creature comfort. Annette nervously picks at her soup. 

Ingrid leans back, exhaling a contented sigh, her dinner platter empty. She leans against the seatback and rests her head. As her pose relaxes, she slumps against Annette, just slightly. Just enough for their legs to press together, enough for Annette to feel the warmth of Ingrid’s body against her own. 

Annette tries to pretend her pink cheeks are from the warmth of the meal. 

“So,” Catherine says, leaning her elbows on the table and swirling the ice in her empty drink. “To business.”

“Yes,” Shamir agrees. 

“The third pilot,” Ingrid sits up, suddenly at attention. She folds her hands on the table but doesn’t pull away from how she sits against Annette. “Did you find another Relic?” 

“We’ve...ah…” Catherine hums softly, mulling it over. “We...we thought it would be best to tell you ahead of time, so you’re not surprised.” 

“Surprised?” Annette asks.

“Catherine means we don’t want any trouble.”

“Why would there be trouble?” Ingrid frowns, leaning forward. “Who is it? Someone else from the academy?” 

“Well, yes,” Catherine says, almost guiltily. “The third pilot is, um…”

“We’re almost finished with repairs on Aegis Shield,” Shamir says flatly, resting her arms on the back of the booth. “The third pilot is Felix Fraldarius.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ingrid and Annette react to the knowledge of a third Relic pilot, Annette undergoes an experimental new training program, and the engineers encounter problems with the SEIROS project's AI system, Sothis.

“Ingrid!” Annette calls after her, darting through the evening crowd. “Ingrid, wait!” 

She thumps against a wooden shop signboard and knocks it over, sprawling out not far behind. “I-Ingrid!” she shouts, pulling herself up. “Just...just wait!”

Her pleas are useless, though, and she watches helplessly as Ingrid darts through the crowd, her gaze warding off anyone who would dare block her path.

Annette sighs and brushes herself off, trying to ignore the muttering pedestrians around her before picking up the signboard and heading off again in the direction Ingrid had left in.

Annette sighs again, rubbing her temples as she walks to the river’s edge. She rests her hands on the railing and gazes up and down the length of black water. No Ingrid. Just people milling around, just neon signs and the sounds of nightlife. She leans over the railing and looks at her reflection, warping in the dark water. 

She doesn’t look up until she sees a head of blonde hair appear in the water beside her. She tilts her head up.

“Catherine, she-”

“It’s okay,” Catherine sighs, leaning against the railing and lighting a cigarette. “She’ll be okay.”

“Why is she so upset?”

Catherine leans to her side, where Shamir stands, and tips her head in close, pressing the tip of her cigarette to Shamir’s. A flare of orange and Catherine exhales smoke. “It’s...complicated.”

“Complicated?” 

“Yeah,” Catherine makes a face and pats Annette on the shoulder. “Shamir and I are going out for drinks. You want to come?”

“N...no, thanks,” Annette says with uncertainty. 

“Right, well, see you back at the apartment,” Catherine smiles. “Don’t worry too hard about Ingrid. She’ll come back. She always does.”

Annette nods and waves the two of them off numbly. Something about Ingrid’s reaction lodges in her brain. The way her face had twisted when she heard that name - Felix Fraldarius. The shock, disbelief, the anger. 

Annette folds her hands together and stares across the river. What was there between the two of them, that made Ingrid react so strongly? They never really gave Annette the impression they were particularly close - there was tension there, more than there was intimacy. She thinks about Felix’s outburst when they were watching Catherine’s press conference on television. 

She sighs and runs a hand through her hair. 

She had been so excited for a night out with Ingrid and Catherine - it had been so long since she just  _ relaxed _ . But no: Work talk, Shamir’s stoic glower, and whatever this is. 

Ingrid could be anywhere, by now. She could have made it back to the train station, she could be on her way home. She could be on her way to Felix’s apartment, to...to what, exactly? 

She groans and fishes her tape player out of her bag. As with anything that happens at SEIROS, there are just more questions, more questions, more questions. She slips her headphones on and walks along the river in a daze, listening to music as she weaves in and out of the nightlife crowd. The people part as she walks, some glancing at her, some busy with their own lives. She wonders idly what would happen if any of them knew who she was - the Relic pilot, the savior of the city. Would they hate her, for all the damage she’s done?

She read the message boards, even though she knew better. Conspiracy chatter, theories about the Relics and the Beasts, and the connection between them. Some people blamed SEIROS for the appearance of the Beasts. Even without that, it was undeniable that each battle caused massive damage to the city - swaths of destruction, weeks of cleanup. 

She sighs and clicks her tape player, dropping her headphones around her neck and rewinding the tape. The crowd is thinner, here, less cars, less motion. Dark sky overhead, the black river lapping at its bounds. And Ingrid, standing on a footbridge, staring at the water, her eyes red-rimmed and empty. 

Annette gasps softly and ducks away before Ingrid can see her. 

-

Ingrid’s hands are white-knuckled, clutching the handrail over the water. She’s breathing slowly, deliberately - Annette recognizes the routine, practiced breathing, knowing that anything more than calm will break a dam of emotion.

Annette steps closer, holding out a wax-paper wrapped crêpe. 

“Hey,” she says quietly.

Ingrid looks up, then down at the peace offering, and then back at the river. “Hey,” she says back, hoarsely.

“I wasn’t sure what you liked, but I hope strawberry is okay.”

“I’m not hungry.”

Annette’s stomach turns. Ingrid’s never been one to turn down food, not once. She must really be upset. Annette steps up to the railing at Ingrid’s side and glances at her, trying not to let her gaze linger on her red-rimmed eyes. 

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Felix, huh.”

“Yeah.”

Annette sighs and stares at the whipped cream dripping down the side of her hand. She glances at Ingrid furtively before licking the side of her hand. “Sure you don’t want this?”

Ingrid looks at it, and then at Annette, her eyes softening. “Um...yeah, I guess I’ll have a few bites.” She takes the  crêpe from Annette and takes a few tentative bites, chewing slowly. 

“Catherine and Shamir went out drinking,” Annette says, trying to change the subject. She stares at the river water. “Think we should wait for them?”

“They’ll be out all night,” Ingrid says, swallowing. “And Catherine will probably be hungover tomorrow.” 

“What about you?” Annette says, looking up at Ingrid. She laughs softly and reaches her hand up to wipe cream from Ingrid’s face. She realizes too late what she’s doing and blushes, averting her gaze as she pulls back. “I...I mean, I was probably going to head back. But I could stay out with you, if you wanted me to.” 

“I’m sorry,” Ingrid says quietly. “I...I think I need some space.”

-

Annette stares at the ceiling. 

She’s still sleeping in the bed, Ingrid still on the futon, even though she didn’t need to keep her arm propped up anymore. After weeks - months? - of sleeping on a futon, the bed feels like too much space. Too much springiness, too many pillows. Too much Ingrid. It still smells like her. 

Annette rolls over and glances at the clock. Too early for breakfast, too early for any excuse to be awake. She needs her rest, after all. Training drills today. She closes her eyes and tries to regulate her breathing. 

On the floor, Ingrid sniffles. 

Annette’s heart stops. Is she awake? Has she been awake this whole time? 

The window is open, a stiff, cool breeze coming in from the outside. The curtains billow inwards, and Ingrid sniffles again. 

Wordlessly, Annette slips from under the covers and sets her feet on the ground. The bed creaks as she stands up, and pads across the room.

Ingrid’s face is turned away, but her body is shaking. Her arms are wrapped around a pillow, muffling her as she tries to stifle another sniffle. 

Annette kneels beside her, quietly, and lays next to her on the futon. Ingrid curls away instinctively, shrinking herself tighter, trying to take up less space. 

Annette lays behind her, watching the back of her head as she shakes, her blonde hair tangled and matted with sweat in the moonlight. She reaches out a cautious hand, brushing her fingers along Ingrid’s shoulder. Her nightshirt is cold and sweat-sticky. 

Ingrid flinches and tenses under her fingertips, so Annette pulls away, giving Ingrid space to uncurl, to adjust to the presence of warmth in the bed beside her. After a cautious beat, Annette lightly dances her fingertips through her hair instead, an approximation of stroking. 

She wants to say something. She  _ should _ say something, shouldn’t she? She’s already this far, might as well try. 

Ingrid relaxes under Annette’s gentle touches, uncurling, her sniffs louder as she pulls away from her wet pillow. She sighs, deeply, a slow inhale and exhale as she stills her wounded cries. And Annette strokes her hair, silently, comfortingly.

Annette is no stranger to distress - back when she and Mercie would have sleepovers, sometimes she’d have awful night terrors, and Mercie would do the same to her; gently stroke her hair, lay with her, silent and comforting.

Ingrid’s hair is soft and golden, its sweaty tangles turning to clean waves as Annette combs it. 

“Felix,” Ingrid says quietly, after awhile. Her breathing slow, her sobs gone. Just silence and Annette stroking her hair. “His...his brother was a pilot.”

“Glenn,” Annette says. It’s not a question. She had been wondering for some time what that name meant - why Ingrid kept that photograph in her locker. Where Glenn was, if not at school. 

“He…” Ingrid swallows audibly, her voice firm but fragile. “He was my partner, before you.”

“He died,” Annette puts it together.

Ingrid nods, gently tugging her hair away from Annette’s fingers. “It was...exciting, before then. It never really felt like we were in any danger, but…” She swallows again, the sentence trailing off into the dark.

“I’m sorry.”

Ingrid sighs again. “It’s in the past.”

They lay together in silence until Ingrid’s breathing evens out into the calm, rhythmic inhales and exhales of sleep. Yellow sunlight creeps over the edge of the window.

-

Felix isn’t at school the next day. 

Ingrid doesn’t seem surprised. She spends most of her morning in what Annette would describe as contemplative silence - she’s distressed by something, yes, but more than that she’s composed, writing in her notebook, answering questions in class, taking tests with the same sort of deliberate stiffness she always does. 

Annette wonders if it’s a mask.

Maybe it always has been a mask - a shield against everything around her, a barrier to keep others from her true heart. The Ingrid that does her hair up nice and tidy, the Ingrid that turns in tests and submits assignments early, the Ingrid that is stuffy, responsible,  _ mature _ .

But there’s another Ingrid in there - the Ingrid that laughs while cooking dinner in her underwear; the Ingrid that grins as she dives headfirst into another round of sparring, sweaty and bruised; the Ingrid that cries alone in bed at night. 

What is it that sits so deep in Ingrid’s heart, weighing on her so heavily? Annette can tell there is something - something shadowed and weighty, something painful. Too painful to talk about, even. Seeing her struggling in silence makes Annette’s chest ache. 

Does she talk to others about her problems? Annette doubts it. Her friends all seem to be boys, and around them Ingrid is different - louder, sharper, more brash. She fits into those spaces, hand in glove. She wears the men’s academy uniform, plays sports on the campus fields, comes home drenched in sweat and caked in dirt. So no, perhaps those aren’t the sort of friends one would open their heart to.

Family? None that she’s close to, as far as Annette can tell. She never calls home, never writes, never leaves for a weekend to visit Daphnel. Where does she go, those nights where she doesn’t come home, the days where she isn’t in class?

Is she alone? 

Does she prefer that solitude to being at home, with Catherine?

Annette spends time watching Catherine and Ingrid interact when they’re together, at work and at home. It’s obvious Ingrid has a great deal of respect for Catherine, looks up to her. They’re cut from the same rough cloth, much more than Annette is. Where she is silk and softness, Ingrid and Catherine are rough edges, secrets, silence. 

Even so, Annette can’t stop thinking about Ingrid’s golden hair, her gentle, green eyes.

Ashe waves a hand in front of Annette’s face. “Hello? You there?” 

“Hm?” Annette blinks, shaking her head and looking up from her open textbook. “Um, yeah, sorry.”

“We were on problem six.”

“Ah, yeah,” Annette nods, rubbing her eyes and looking down at her book. “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize,” Ashe says, thumbing through his own book. “Didn’t get a lot of sleep last night?”

“Mm, something like that,” Annette yawns.

The library is quiet in the afternoons, shady and dusty and packed wall-to-wall with crowded bookshelves. The lower floors housed the databases and computers and digital tablets, but Annette always preferred the quiet solitude of analog literature. Less distractions, less input. She squints at her book again. 

“Oh, yeah.” She grimaces. “Ugh, complex manifolds.”

“Well, there’s a reason we’re studying,” Ashe says. 

Annette chews the inside of her lip, distracted. “Ashe, can I ask you a question?”

“Sure, anything,” Ashe smiles.

“You’re...um, you’re really into the Relic thing, right?”

“SEIROS’ Relic program? Yeah, I think it’s really amazing,” Ashe says, gazing wistfully out the window. “It’s such amazing technology put to incredible use protecting the city like this. I hope they can implement something like it everywhere.” He looks back at Annette. “I think defense is always best left to people, rather than programs. Automation and artificial intelligence just can’t make the same sort of split-second decisions.”

“Oh,” Annette says.

“Like, the other week, when the Relics were battling that big monster!” Ashe says, suddenly excited. “Seeing that pilot pulling the monster off the highway like that...gosh, that was really something else.”

“Hm,” Annette says, trying to sound noncommittal. 

“Why do you ask?” 

“I...I was wondering if you knew anything else about the Relics, about SEIROS. Is this a new thing, or has there been, um...other Relics, you know?” 

“Just those two, as far as I know,” Ashe shrugs. “I’m sure there’s more, but they’re no doubt being developed in secret.” 

Annette nods. “I figured as much. I was just wondering.” She forces a broad smile. “Sorry, we should really get to work.”

-

Ingrid fluffs her hair out and reties it into a braid, letting it drape down across the back of her plugsuit. She checks her gauntlets over, idly adjusting things while Annette undresses beside her. 

Neither of them had spoken on the way to work, nor in school. Ingrid had forgone their usual training session. 

With a hiss, Ingrid’s plugsuit pressurizes. She sits down to finish organizing her locker before shutting it.

“Do you know when Felix is going to get here?” Annette asks, her voice seeming so awfully loud in the stillness of the locker room. 

Ingrid shakes her head and latches the lock on her locker. 

“Oh. Um, ready for diagnostics today?” Annette tries, but her words do nothing to stop Ingrid from climbing over the wooden bench and heading for the door. “Ingrid,” she says softly, trying not to sound as pleading as she feels. “Ingrid…”

Ingrid stops at the door and stares at the plastic ID card in her hand. A younger her looks back, smiling. Excited to be a part of this breakthrough in defense technology. She pulls the card back from the electronic lock but doesn’t turn around.

“I’m...sorry,” Annette says. “About last night, I mean-”

“It’s not that,” Ingrid sighs, swiping her card. The lock beeps green and the door slides open with a hiss. 

Annette watches her go, hastily tugging her uniform off and dragging her plugsuit on, staggering out the door half-dressed. “Ingrid, w-wait! Please, just-” 

Her voice echoes down the empty metal hallway. She sighs and limps back into the locker room to finish dressing. 

-

Ingrid is with Catherine in the command center when Annette emerges into the docking bay. She and Catherine are speaking in hushed tones, looking over a computer display. Annette can recognize what’s being shown - the wireframe data of a Relic, surrounded by information that is useless to her. 

Above them towers something new. 

Three Relics for three docks. 

The third Relic, the newest, finally emerged from the shadows, darkness stripped away, its bones laid bare by the fluorescent light and shafts of sunlight from above. It has an angular, sloped head, triangular and bolted together with strips of metal and wire. Even more so than the other Relics, this one is an amalgamation of off-white cracked stone and metal struts, metal bones keeping the whole frame together. The bottom corner of a metal ribcage is exposed, and a spinal column made of the same off-white rock. The shape of the spinal column, the ridges of vertebrae - it gives the whole Relic the feeling of being made of bone, organic matter stapled together, clamps and shackles barely keeping the flesh and bone from dropping off onto the floor in rotting chunks. 

Annette stares at it, her stomach turning. 

“Are you sure you’re comfortable doing this?” Catherine asks Ingrid, who nods. Her voice falters and quiets as Annette approaches. “Oh, Annette, just the person I wanted to see.”

“Hello, Catherine,” Annette frowns, peering at the computer. “This is the new Relic?”

“Aegis Shield,” Catherine nods. “It’ll be operable by the end of the week.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah, wow,” Catherine sighs, sitting down and pressing the end of her cigarette into an ashtray. She pecks at the keys, changing the digital display. “You don’t need to worry about that, though. We’re doing sync tests today.”

“Ugh,” Annette groans. “Do we have to?”

“I know it’s uncomfortable,” Catherine says, “but we have to do it to keep our data consistent. Losing data means losing weeks of progress.”

“Yeah, yeah,” Annette sighs, adjusting her gauntlets as she heads towards her Relic’s dock. 

She’s gotten used to some parts of it - daily submersion in that awful liquid, for one. It gets easier. Before, she would choke and panic as it filled her lungs, but now she knows that it’s at least somewhat safe to breathe. 

She climbs the ladder, gripping each rung. The metal bars feel slippery under her feet. 

She still hasn’t gotten used to the feelings of the wires hooking into her skin, the gauntlets tightening as her veins open up. Dark red spills out, down the wires and into the Crest. 

“Can you hear me, Annette?” Shamir’s voice rings out over the communicator.

“Yeah,” Annette says as she firmly grips the control sticks. “Loud and clear.”

“Alright, get comfortable,” Shamir says. “We’ll be running diagnostics for a bit before the tests begin. Okay?” 

“Yes, ma’am.”

Annette gazes through the cockpit screens at the base around her - Ingrid is sitting at the foot of Aegis Shield.

“Um, ma’am?” Annette asks. “Is Ingrid going to be doing tests?”

“Galatea has some things to discuss with the commander,” Shamir says. “Keep your mind on-task, please.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annette says. “Of course, ma’am.”

Annette tries not to doze off as diagnostics are run - on her end, she has nearly nothing to do, besides sitting and waiting for the computer to do its business. Sometimes her view screens flash, sometimes there’s data outputs she doesn’t understand. Her custom targeting reticle pops up on the screen, changes in hue and opacity, then disappears again.

Annette hums to herself idly. 

In the dock next to her, Catherine approaches Ingrid. The two speak inaudibly before Ingrid stands up and follows Catherine out, past the command center and up the stairs, out of the bowels of the facility and towards the surface.

“Annette.”

Annette bobs her head from side to side, still humming.

“Annette.”

“Hm?”

“Please stop humming.” Shamir’s command, while politely phrased, makes Annette blush and cough.

“Hah...uh, sorry, ma’am.”

“It’s alright,” Shamir says flatly. “We’re going to be doing something new for the sync test today.”

“Oh?”

“Sorry, again, it’ll be a lot of sitting there for you,” Shamir says. “When your sync peaks, we’re going to be injecting some new code into the Relic to try and push the rate higher.”

“Is that safe?”

“That’s why we’re testing it here, instead of in battle.”

Cyril’s voice crackles to life. “It’s safe, don’t worry. Even if it’s not, we have three layers of emergency shutdown and code shutoff procedures while Crusher is still in the dock. The biggest danger is-”

“No danger,” Shamir speaks over him. “You won’t even notice.”

“Oh…” Annette frowns. She looks through the glass at the command center, where Cyril frowns and says something. Shamir shakes her head before pressing the comms button again. 

“Right, sync tests starting now.”

Annette works through the motions of the synchronization calibration - moving her arms, moving her legs, moving her head. Testing the grip of her fingers, the delicacy of her control. Shamir guides her through it, commanding her where to lift her arms, where to change her settings to, which buttons and switches to press. The screen crackles away and plunges Annette into darkness.

“Okay, Annette,” Shamir’s voice still comes through the comms. “We’re going to be injecting the new sync code now. Keep us informed of any physiological changes.”

“Physiological…?”

“If it hurts, even a little bit, we’ll pull the plug right away,” Cyril says helpfully. “Injection contact in three...two...one.”

Annette swallows.

The cockpit around her is totally dark, her body in a void of thick air and blackness. She can feel her arms, her legs, but without light, without screens, the feeling starts to slip away from her. Like floating in a pool. Arms and legs drifting until there is nothing, her limbs dissolved into the soup of the cockpit, disembodied fragments of a doll drifting in the dark void. Annette’s breathing quickens. 

A voice comes over the comms, muted and distant. Like listening to a radio underwater.

“Okay, looks like pulse is down. Temperature rising.”

“Keep it going.” That voice is Shamir’s--Annette knows that much. 

“Losing blood pressure,” Cyril says.

Annette tries to look at her hands, at the red wires she knows are snaking through the dark. Her arms feel numb. 

“Shit,” Cyril mutters. “Dominic, you need to keep your hands still.”

Annette can’t even correct him - her mouth is sluggish to respond. Is her body even hers anymore? She can’t remember what her arms are supposed to feel like. Everything is slipping away, everything about her turning into sludge as her body dissipates. Her memories, the faces of her friends. She can feel the red liquid rising, a mountain of bones spilling upwards. The sword plunged through a corpse. 

“Pulse quickening,” Cyril reports.

There’s static and a rustling of electronics and comms. Annette’s head thunks back against the seat.

“Respiration up, too,” Cyril continues. “She’s hyperventilating. We need to shut it down.”

“No,” Catherine’s voice cuts through the comms, even though Annette can scarcely put together the meaning of her words. “Keep pushing. She can do it.”

“She can’t!” Cyril protests. 

“What are you  _ doing _ ?!” Shamir shouts. “Look at her vitals!” 

“Blood pressure down,” Cyril says. “She’s approaching hypotension.” 

“Too much blood is flowing into the Crest,” Shamir says clinically. “Pilot Dominic, clench your fists.”

Annette can’t. She can scarcely conceive fists at the ends of her arms. 

Catherine’s voice is sharp, impatient, almost fearful. “Come on, Annette. Come on.”

“I’m pulling the plug,” Shamir decides, her voice cutting in and out over the comms. “Catherine, you’re-”

The voices melt away. Annette blinks at the blackness before her. Shapes seem to move in front of her, shadows against shadows. Phosphenes drifting around the cockpit. And then her stomach drops. Like plunging off a cliff, like the descent of a roller coaster, her whole body sinks. 

And then she can see everything - the docking bay, the command center, the shapes of people moving around. Everything in perfect clarity. 

And then her vision goes black and she plunges out of nonexistence. She returns to the cockpit with enough force to shake her body and knock the wind out of her. She gasps out a stream of bubbles as the cockpit’s emergency lights flash on, trails of softly glowing red around her. The cockpit is empty, the screens off. Her gauntlets still in place, her body still strapped into the pilot seat.

She exhales. 

Above her, a hatch opens and white light cascades into the cockpit. She blinks at the silhouettes that appear in the opening. 

“I’m okay!” are the words she wants to say, but speech hasn’t returned quite yet. Something plunges into the cockpit, and then she can feel hands on her arms, on her back, pulling her up out of the water. She coughs and sputters red as she exits into the cold air.

Catherine, cradling her at the cockpit’s exit, is doused in red, her uniform soaking wet and her hair in pink tangles. 

“I have you,” Catherine mutters, slinging Annette’s frail body over her shoulder as she climbs out onto the elevated docking platform. She lays Annette down with a soft splat. “Hey. Hey. You okay, kid?”

“Mmn?” Annette blinks. “Yeah.”

Catherine runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “Okay. Good.” She presses her communication. “We didn’t have any overflow back into our systems, right?”

“Shut-off worked just fine, ma’am,” Cyril says. “The injected code is isolated in Crusher.”

“Get it the hell out of it,” Catherine says, wiping her wet hair from her eyes. “Annette’s not piloting until Crusher is scrubbed clean.”

Annette blinks at her, dazed. 

Catherine clenches her jaw and closes her eyes, propping up Annette’s body and half-holding her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have-”

“It’s okay,” Annette says quietly. 

“No, it’s not…” Catherine shakes her head, impotent frustration boiling over. “The Director, she...she…”

Annette’s head thunks against Catherine’s shoulder as she blacks out.

-

Annette is sitting in a conference room. 

She’s still slightly dazed from her experience with the synchronization test. She hasn’t been drunk before, but she assumes this is what it feels like - sort of numb, muted, her brain trying to access thoughts and motions but her body failing to follow through with the actions. Catherine helped her walk to the decontamination chamber. She was scrubbed clean by decontamination, and then cleaned herself again in the shower booth of the locker room, and then she toweled off and dressed in her civilian clothing, and now she’s sitting in a conference room staring at her little plastic ID card. 

She had pulled it out to unlock the door and hasn’t put it back yet. She stares at the crest in the corner - the Crest of Dominic, she knows. 

The door behind her opens and Catherine shuffles through. “Sorry for being late,” she mutters. “Catch.”

Before Annette can react, Catherine tosses her a plastic bottle, electric orange energy drink sloshing around inside. Annette fails to catch it and the bottle thumps against her arm before clattering to the floor and rolling back towards Catherine.

Catherine sighs and bends over to pick it up. “Your fa - Commander Dominic is ready to see you.” She holds the energy drink out. “Get something to drink.”

Annette takes it from her gingerly, nodding. Her movements feel sluggish, numb. The drink tastes sickly-sweet - she remembers drinking similar things when she played softball in high school. She manages a few mouthfuls before screwing the plastic cap back on.

“I, um...I have some work to do, but I can walk you to the elevators.”

Annette doesn’t respond as she sits up and pushes her chair in. 

The walk down the hall to the bank of elevators is slow, teetering. Catherine is speaking to her - something about training regimens, maybe - but her words are so distant and muted. 

“Annette,” Catherine says gravely as they stop at the bank of elevators. Her voice is somber enough to cut through Annette’s mental haze. “The new pilot will be here soon. You need to prepare for changes that will be happening.”

Annette nods.

Catherine purses her lips, pausing for a moment, as if she’s about to speak, but instead she hits the elevator call button. “I should be done with work early enough to drive you home tonight.”

“What about Ingrid?”

“She’s busy.”

The elevator dings and the doors open.

Even as Annette reaches out her hands to press the floor button, she can’t stop staring at each part of her body, like it belongs to someone else rather than her. Like she’s controlling an Annette from a distance. The feeling fades more with each passing minute, but it still lingers in the back of her mind as she steps out of the elevator and makes her way down the long, dark hallway towards her father’s office. 

The door is locked when she arrives. She frowns and lifts her hand to knock. The door slides open and a figure stands on the other side.

“WAH!” Annette yelps, stumbling back. 

The man frowns, surprised to see the girl sprawling out on the floor in front of him. He glances backward into the office with uncertainty.

“Ah, Pilot Dominic,” Gilbert says. “Come in.”

The man offers his hand to help Annette back to her feet and she gratefully accepts. His grip is firm and strong, his gloved hands stiff against her own. He has long, dark blue hair and the hint of stubble around his mouth. He smiles at her as she dusts herself off.

“Watch your step,” he says. It’s not ominous or condemning, so much as an expression of concern.

“You may go, Rodrigue,” Gilbert says curtly.

Rodrigue nods and steps past Annette, disappearing into the darkness of the hallway. 

“Who was that?” Annette asks as the door to Gilbert’s office slides shut behind her with a hiss. 

“Major Fraldarius,” Gilbert says, closing his laptop. 

“Felix’s father,” Annette says. It’s not a question. The similarities were obvious.

“That’s right,” Gilbert tips his face down. “His son will be joining you and Galatea.”

“Why is Ingrid so upset about Felix?”

“The former pilot of Aegis Shield was Glenn Fraldarius, Felix’s brother.”

Annette scoffs. “You sure seem ready to share information today, Commander. What have I done to deserve such red-carpet treatment?”

“I heard you performed admirably today, Annette.”

Annette is quiet for a moment, staring at her father across his desk. She has nothing to say to him - not about today, not at all. Unless he plans to answer her questions himself rather than sending someone else to do it for him. As far as Annette is concerned, he’s a coward and nothing more. The praise of a coward means nothing. She purses her lips.

She still sees it when she tries to sleep. She still sees the waves of blood, piles of tangled bone. That face, staring down at her. 

“I’m sure you were wondering what you were doing today.”

Annette nods slightly. 

“The code that was injected into your Relic is a dummy profile that has been constructed using a composite of battle and training data, as well as additional code that the Director provided herself. The idea…” Gilbert leans on his desk. “Is that we will be able to automate the Relics. Eliminate the need for pilots entirely.”

Annette’s throat tightens. “What?”

“I acknowledge that the job you and Galatea perform is dangerous-”

“Life-threatening,” Annette corrects, frowning.

“Yes,” Gilbert nods in agreement. “But in time we will no longer need to put human pilots in danger. We’ll have progressed past the need for such rudimentary measures.” 

Annette stares at her father’s desk. In her mind, she can see the Relic - the animal form, the smell of blood, metal bands keeping it together. Metal bands keeping something subdued. And the question remains - what  _ are _ the Relics? 

“You worked hard today, Annette,” Gilbert says. “Go home. Get some rest. We have a long week ahead of us.”

-

It’s dark in the command center, absent even the skeleton crew that runs the facility on off-hours. Off-hours is a ridiculous term, Catherine thinks as she walks past banks of computers. It’s not like Demonic Beasts work on a human schedule. Clock out at five, take weekends off.

She sighs and rubs her temples.

In the shadows of the docking bay, the three Relics loom tall and ominous, their details obscured by darkness and the soft glow of emergency lights. Catherine stands at the window and stares out at them.

It’s strange how, with their details obscured, they seem more life-like. Like they might step from the shadows, sentient and aware and hungry. Every crevice and crack is cast in sharp relief, shadows traced along jagged jaws and bands of metal. 

The bay is empty, motionless. 

Maybe not entirely empty. Catherine slides open the pneumatic door and descends from the command center into the empty dock, her heavy combat boots echoing on the metal platforms. She walks past power turbines and heavy, coiling tubes, filtration systems, all sorts of things she sees Cyril and the other engineers tinkering with day-in, day-out. She sticks her hands in her jacket pocket.

No smoking in the docks, unfortunately.

She passes by the Relics, trying not to stare up at them. They always spook her at night - something about their forms, their disquieting aura. How they do just seem like slumbering beasts. She stares at  Lúin, grimacing. It’s still dented in places, stained with dark red from the most recent battle. 

And Aegis Shield - one of the first Relics excavated. Beat to hell and back. Catherine remembers scrubbing stains out of the cockpit. When the Crests crack, all that blood just...

She sighs and rubs her eyes. It’s in the past, now. Mistakes to be learned from and never made again. 

She climbs up the scaffolding, boots against the metal steps, and then on the rungs up to the cockpit door. She stands for a moment at the cockpit before hitting the release latch.

With a hiss, the cockpit slides open. Empty and dark inside, save a form sitting up in the pilot’s chair. A curled ball of a woman. 

“Hey, kid. You know you can’t sleep here.”

Ingrid looks tired when she looks up, the shadows making her seem worse than she is. A ghost in the cockpit, her arms wrapped around her legs. 

Catherine sighs and climbs down through the hatch, slipping into the space next to the pilot seat. “Come on.”

Ingrid doesn’t say anything. Her eyes are fixed on the Crest set into the cockpit, cracked but bolted together. Whole, sort of. Wires tangled from the armrests. She takes a shaking breath.

“Felix is going to pilot tomorrow, isn’t he.”

Catherine crouches at Ingrid’s side and runs her hand through her hair. “Yeah. I mean, it depends on how things go.”

Ingrid nods slowly, her gaze still distant. In the dim light, Catherine can see smudges of dried tears around her eyes. 

“What about Glenn’s sync data?”

Catherine rests a hand on Ingrid’s arm. “Come on. I’ll drive you home.”

Ingrid slumps forward, her head lowering. She didn’t need to ask. She knew the answer. It didn’t matter anyway. 

She allows Catherine to pull her to her feet, up out of the pilot’s seat and towards the exit hatch. Ingrid goes first, slowly climbing out and dropping down to the scaffolding with a clatter. Catherine clambers out next, but by the time she lands Ingrid is already descending the stairs.

Catherine watches her and purses her lips.

“Ingrid.”

Ingrid stops, staring at the floor for a moment before turning around.

“I’m...I’m sorry.”

-

_ Us _ echoes in Annette’s head as she lays in bed at night, staring at the ceiling.  _ We _ . Are they a team, then? Has he acknowledged her, then, or is she still nothing more than a tool in his arsenal, a proxy for code. 

_ Progressed past the need for pilots _ .

She lays on her back, resting her hands on her stomach, trying to quell her nausea. Her headphones are clamped around her head, softly playing music.

It’s a good thing, isn’t it? To not need to put herself in danger, to not put Ingrid in danger either. Would they lead normal lives, then? Go back to school, live in the dormitories, study in the library? Would they continue to live with Catherine? Would they continue to live together?

Would her father even want to see her anymore? 

Her tape player clicks off and rewinds itself.

-

Catherine sighs and takes a slow drag from her cigarette before squashing it into an ashtray. 

“Can you hand me that wrench?” Shamir’s voice is muffled, coming from somewhere behind the tangle of metal and computer hardware, somewhere in the bowels of the command center. There’s a shuffle and clatter of metal and wires and then a gloved hand smeared with grease reaches out from a crawlspace panel.

Catherine picks up a wrench from the toolbox resting outside the crawlspace and passes it to the disembodied hand, which retracts. 

Catherine picks up a paper cup of coffee and kneels at the crawlspace, peering inside. 

Shamir is crammed into the crawlspace, a laptop open on her lap, a penlight pinned between her teeth, peering over panels and exposed wiring and dozens and dozens of hasty scribblings on sticky notes. She folds the laptop shut and ducks her head lower, crawling through the crawlspace with her wrench and trying to pull a metal panel free. 

Catherine sips her coffee and frowns. “You good? You could probably get Cyril to do this, you know. He’s small. He’d fit.”

“Ith fine,” Shamir mumbles, taking the penlight out of her mouth and setting it down. 

“Speaking of, where is the kid?” Catherine sits and leans back against the wall next to the crawlspace. The coffee is strong, bitter, and disgusting. Shamir’s choice. She makes a face at it.

“I told him to go get a copy of the code we used from Gilbert.” Shamir wipes grease from her forehead and peers out towards Catherine. “He should be back by now.” 

With another clank of metal and a great deal of scraping and tearing, Shamir hauls herself out of the crawlspace and lays on the floor of the command center, staring up at Catherine. “You okay?”

“Hm? Yeah.”

“You haven’t stopped smoking since the sync test.” Shamir pushes herself up and pulls her gloves off. “And you’re drinking that shitty Dagdan coffee.” 

“Yeah,” Catherine says, lowering the paper cup. “Sorry, just a little…”

“Uneasy?” 

“Maybe.”

Shamir laughs. “You sure do care about those kids.”

There’s a hiss as the door opens and the two women look up as Cyril stumbles through, his arms wrapped around a bundle of paperwork and a tablet computer. “Sorry for the wait, Miss Shamir,” he says, staggering across the control center and gently depositing his armload of materials onto one of the computers. “Commander Dominic didn’t have any information, so he sent me to go ask the Director.”

Catherine and Shamir glance at each other.

“The Director?” Shamir asks, holding out her hand as Cyril offers to haul her to her feet. “Is she still here?”

Cyril shrugs. “I don’t know. I just spoke to her remotely.”

“Did she get you a copy of the code?”

“No, ma’am,” Cyril shakes his head.

Shamir sighs and rests her hands on her hips, staring out through the thick pane of glass into the darkness of the docking bay. Crusher stands in its place, metal supports and restraints in place, soft emergency lights bathing it red. 

“Um, ma’am?” Cyril asks, stepping up to Shamir’s side. “I don’t understand, why can’t we just connect Crusher back to the system? If the code we used was the problem, it’s still in there...right?” 

Shamir purses her lips. “Cyril, have you spent any time working with Sothis?”

“Sothis? No, ma’am.”

“She’s the AI that governs this whole facility. Director Rhea set her up herself.” Shamir steps forwards, skimming a bank of computers and sitting down behind one. She taps some keys, bringing up a digital display. “I don’t know what happened with today’s sync test, but we can’t let it screw up the whole system.”

“Oh.”

Catherine stands behind them, picking up her smoldering cigarette and considering her empty coffee cup with something like disdain. 

“It was a bug, right?” Cyril continues. “What happened to Annette...that wasn’t supposed to happen, right?” 

“Maybe.” 

“Shamir.”

Shamir looks up, surprised to hear Catherine’s voice. “Hm? What’s wrong?”

“Can I speak with you? Alone?” 

Shamir nods and pats Cyril’s shoulder, giving him some order about cleaning a database before leaving the command center with Catherine. The two of them descend into the darkness of the Relic bay, letting the command center doors hiss shut behind them. Catherine glances up nervously at Cyril, tapping on his computer behind the thick safety glass. 

Shamir folds her arms over her chest. “You do know something, don’t you?”

Catherine stares at her. 

“Look, tell me or don’t, but if we spend enough time digging around in Sothis, we’re going to find it.”

“I…” Catherine sighs and rubs her temples. “It’s…”

“It’s a clearance thing, I know,” Shamir nods.

Catherine watches Crusher, half-expecting the Relic to come to life in the darkness. There’s silence between them - total, all-encompassing silence that seems to eat even the sound of footsteps. Cyril sits behind glass, every motion muted. Crusher looms over them. 

“Sothis wouldn’t have let her get hurt. She’s not…” Shamir shakes her head. “A program like that doesn’t just break. I don’t know what the Director gave us, but if it endangers our pilots, it puts all of us in danger.” Shamir frowns. “Do you understand?”

“I know.”

“I want you to tell me before doing any more code injections. Understand?”

“You’re not my commanding officer,” Catherine says blankly. Her cigarette is down to ash and she stares at the smoldering end. 

“The Director hired me to do a job. I can’t be a systems engineer if you keep dumping things into the system.” Shamir turns and climbs the stairs back towards the command center. “You regret it, don’t you?”

Catherine drops her cigarette and crushes it under her bootheel. 


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette and Ingrid meet the newest Relic pilot. When the Academy is suddenly attacked by a giant Demonic Beast, all three pilots scramble to action despite a rookie pilot and Ingrid's dropping sync rate.

Felix Fraldarius stands in the command center. 

His arms are folded over his chest, a heavy, solemn stare on his face. He watches without blinking as Shamir shows him displays on the computer monitor in front of them. Annette stands behind them, at the door, afraid to approach.

Felix looks...handsome, in a word - his plugsuit traces his angles and the lithe muscles of his arms, the same skin-tight material that Annette is wearing, that Ingrid is wearing.

She’s below, in the Relic bay, with Cyril. The two are tinkering with some machinery at the foot of Ingrid’s Relic. Daylights streams in from above, casting beams of yellow across the facility. 

Annette tries to clear her throat, but it’s too soft to be heard.

“We’ll be running your initial synchronization tests today,” Shamir is explaining, tapping at her keyboard with one hand while her free hand sets a cigarette in her ashtray, crammed next to a cluster of the same. “You won’t be expected to see combat or do any motion tests until the end of the week, at least.”

Felix nods, his expression unchanging. 

“Um, Chief Engineer Nevrand?” Annette says nervously, her hands clasped in front of herself. She winces as Felix turns around, her face flushing. “Hi, F-Felix.”

Felix doesn’t say anything, but there’s an almost imperceptible wrinkle of his brow.

“I almost didn’t believe it,” he mutters.

“Um…”

“You, too,” he shakes his head. 

“Sorry.” Annette winces again and half-bows her head. “Um, Chief Nevrand, I was wondering what I was going to be doing today? Catherine - um - Commander Charon hasn’t spoken to me yet.”

“She hasn’t shown up yet,” Shamir says, picking up a stack of papers and shuffling them. “You and Galatea will be doing firing drills on the surface.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Annette stares at the floor under Felix’s feet. 

-

Crusher lowers its rifle to the ground. 

“Annette?” Ingrid asks over the comms. “Is something wrong?”

The sky is blue and cloudless overhead, the sun hanging high above the ridge of the horizon. A stiff, cold breeze ruffles the pine trees and kicks up clouds of dust along the rocky dirt slopes. Annette grimaces and shakes her head. 

“Um…” Annette says, chewing her lower lip for a minute. She reaches forward and flicks a switch on her console. “I’ve switched to private comms.”

“They still record the transmissions, you know,” Ingrid points out. “Switched to private.”

“Yeah, I just...I don’t want…”

“Yeah,” Ingrid says.  Lúin stands at Crusher’s side, its own rifle held loosely, the barrel pointed at the ground. Before them, the dirt tract of the firing range stands long and unoccupied. At the far end there’s a disused concrete building, pockmarked and burnt. “What’s on your mind?”

“Felix seems mad at me.”

Ingrid’s laugh is harsh, almost callous. “You and me both.” 

She had come home late with Catherine, after the day of Annette’s sync test. Both of them were quiet, Ingrid uncharacteristically so. Ever since that night, she seemed...different. Stiffer, more standoffish. She had just begun relaxing into a routine with Annette, just starting to lower those formal defenses, and now it seems Annette is back at square one. Whatever comfort, whatever intimacy they had established, gone. 

Annette sighs and adjusts Abraxas’ barrel. She doesn’t know what to say. 

Ingrid must not either, because her comms switch back to public and she takes a step forwards, kneeling to aim her rifle. 

A blast of energy pulses from Fimbulvetr’s barrel, cutting a path of dust and ice down the firing range before terminating at a stand of trees at the far end. 

“Shit,” Ingrid mutters. There’s a click over the comms as she adjusts something. “Cyril, you there?”

“Yessir, what’s up?”

“Fimbulvetr’s still off-calibration.”

“By how much?”

“Fifty meters at half-kilometer.”

“Okay, I’ll see what I can do on my end.”

Crusher stands, motionless, Annette’s body feeling numb inside its cockpit. It’s strange - since the sync test, she’s felt more comfortable in the cockpit. But now she can barely muster the coordination to lift her rifle. She idly wonders what would happen if she were to get sick in the cockpit. 

“Annette?” Ingrid asks.

“Ah, yeah, sorry.” Annette navigates Crusher past Lúin and raises its rifle. 

Her hands are shaking as she pulls the trigger. A beam of light blasts across the firing range and shaves the top off of a copse of trees. There’s a burst of light and smoke. 

“What was that?” Ingrid snaps. “You weren’t even close to the target.”

“Sorry,” Annette says, lifting her rifle again.

“Cyril, what’s the status of calibration?” 

There’s nothing but silence and the wind across the firing range. Annette glances through her viewscreen at Lúin. 

“Cyril, do you read?” Ingrid tries again. 

“Hello?” Annette contributes quietly. “Are we having comms trouble?”

On the other end, there’s static and the crackle of motion. “Hey, sorry about that,” Shamir’s voice is low and to the point. “We’ve got a situation here.”

“What kind of situation?” Ingrid asks.

“We’re not sure yet. Standby for orders.”

Annette switches to private comms. “What does that mean?”

“It means we wait for orders.”

“What about Felix?”

“I don’t know.”

Annette closes her eyes and tries to breathe. She switches channels again. “What about Felix?”

“Pilot Fraldarius will deploy once his initialization is complete.”

“Deploy?” Ingrid says, startled. “Already?”

“We don’t have any choice.”

Ingrid’s voice crackles with overmodulation. “Is Felix even able to synchronize? What are you thinking?”

Catherine’s voice is firm and commanding. “There was leftover code from Aegis Shield’s former pilot. His sync data is already high enough for mobility. Annette will have to make do. Both of you, head towards the academy.”

Annette stares at Lúin’s motionless, slumped frame. “Yes, ma’am,” she says quietly.

-

They see the smoke before the officer’s academy comes into view.

Annette breaks into a sprint, pushing Crusher to its limit as she leaps over ridges and dashes through trees, until she sees the academy train station. The station is smashed to pieces, a tangled wreck of metal and sparking wires and flowing black smoke. A commuter train sits half-overturned, twisting off the tracks and spilling out into the surrounding campus. Around it, everything is a blur of energy and fear. Students, faculty, emergency responders, and security officers trying to direct them all. 

Lúin kneels at an empty spot against the tracks and rests the barrel of her rifle against it. Ingrid’s voice is sharp, tactical. “What’s the situation?”

“We don’t know,” Shamir reports back. “All communications with the academy security systems ceased functioning after we received information indicating a Demonic Beast. Your video feed is all we know.”

Crusher crouches at Lúin’s side. Annette swivels her head, trying to see anything amid the chaos and smoke. “I don’t see anything.”

“Me neither.”

Annette’s stomach twists and turns.  _ An attack on the academy...why? _

It’s pointless to try and figure it out, isn’t it? The Beasts are animals, driven by bloodlust and frenzy, nothing more. Annette lifts her rifle and switches the thermal scope on. 

It’s like the campus is on fire, students and staff moving in great orange blobs across her vision. She grimaces and lifts one hand to wipe her bangs out of her face. “I see movement.”

“Where?”

“Faculty building.”

Ingrid nods and shifts Lúin into motion, climbing over the train station, careful to extricate herself from the tangled metal and wire. She clambers onto the roof of the station. “There’s too many people,” she mutters. “I can’t get through.”

Annette pushes Crusher to its feet. “I’m going to circle around the outside edge of campus,” she says, breaking into a dash. 

“Annette, wait-” Ingrid stammers, trying to change course. 

“Ingrid, Annette,” Catherine’s voice finally crackles over the radio and Annette feels relief rush over her. Something about knowing she’s at the other end makes Annette feel just a little bit better.

“Yes, ma’am?” Ingrid asks.

“We’ve gotten in touch with academy security. They’re going to be getting as many students inside as possible. If you see the Beast,  _ do not engage _ . We can’t risk any more casualties.”

“ _ More _ ?” Annette asks as Crusher slides around the edge of campus. She cuts across a grove of trees and skitters to a halt in a green lawn between two tall buildings, Crusher’s feet kicking up clods of dirt in a spray. 

She stares, frozen with fear.

A giant Demonic Beast stands over the lawn, clawing at the side of an office building, its fists shredding through the glass in a spray of debris. It’s different from the others they’ve fought so far - standing on two feet, as tall as a Relic, each hand wrapped in heavy iron gauntlets that extend to the monster’s elbow. The whole Beast is bulging, muscle rippling under its leathery bands of skin, loops of metal keeping the gauntlets on its hands. Its spine is a ridge of reddish bone protruding in uneven chunks from its flesh. 

Annette swallows, her heart pounding.

Instead of a golden mask, the Beast has a full helmet - metal wrapped around it, formed to its jaws, bolted and tied to its neck. Through hinges in the jaw, Annette can see its teeth - sharp and animalistic behind a clean metal facade.

On its neck, the strips of leathery skin part - red eyes bubble on its neck, wide and swiveling, watching its sides as it crashes through the front of the office building. 

Around its feet, buried under rubble, Annette can see red blood pooling.

She fights back the urge to throw up. “I…” she swallows heavily. “I have eyes on the t-target.”

“Do not engage!” Catherine shouts. “Not until we can finish evac!”

“It sees me,” Annette’s voice trembles. The Beast’s eyes widen as they fix on her, and the lumbering monster turns its head with a groan of steel. As it pulls back from the office building, the front collapses into more rubble, dust and glass. “C-Catherine, it sees me.”

“I’m almost there,” Ingrid says. “Where are you?”

“Th...the earth sciences building,” Annette says, fumbling for the safety latch on her rifle. 

Cyril’s voice is frantic. “Ma’am, she’s disengaged Abraxas’ locks. Should I boot up the targeting program?”

Catherine is silent for a long moment. 

The rifle trembles in Crusher’s hands. 

The Beast roars, its metal jaws splitting open to reveal the flesh and bone beneath. It’s roar is horrible, piercing, enough for Annette to drop her rifle and clamp her hands over her ears. Crusher follows suit, the gesture meaningless as the cockpit systems spark and flash. 

“What was that?” Ingrid asks.

“I…I don’t know.”

The Beast breaks into a sprint, its motions unnatural and jerking as it drags through grass and concrete, crushing trees as it goes. 

Annette kneels, scrabbling in the dirt for her rifle. There’s another piercing roar and a crash and scrape of steel and bone and a splatter of flesh, and Annette looks up.

Another Relic stands between her and the Beast. Aegis Shield, and a massive bone-white kite shield propped up between the two Relics and the Beast. The monster crashes against the shield, shrieking and clawing and tearing.

“What are you  _ doing _ ?” Felix shouts over the comms. 

“F-Felix!” 

Felix, growling into the radio, pushes back against the Beast, bashing it with the shield and sending it sprawling back into the plaza. It skids and crashes through the glass front of the earth sciences building, showering white chips across it. 

Felix lowers the shield and with his other hand draws a slick metal sword at Aegis’ hip, its blade shimmering with the same orange energy as Ingrid’s lance. 

“What are you doing?” Felix asks again.

Annette clenches her jaw, grasps her rifle, and pushes Crusher to its feet. Behind them, Lúin skitters around the corner, scraping up a wave of concrete as it comes to a halt. 

Opposite the three Relics, the giant Beast crawls to its feet, its metal gauntlets splashed red with blood. 

-

“Bring up the live feed,” Shamir says, reaching up and flipping a switch. “Cyril, do we have vitals?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cyril says, taking his headset off. “Initializing Crusher’s targeting system now.”

“Good.”

Catherine stands behind the bank of computers, watching intently, her mind racing. “What’s the status on the academy evacuation?” 

“There’s just not enough time,” Shamir mutters. After a sequence of rapid taps at her keyboard, she touches her headset. “Commander Dominic, do we have total security clearance?”

Gilbert’s voice is low and decisive. “Do it.”

Shamir pauses for a beat, staring at her computer before tapping a key. “Pilots, you are clear to engage.” 

-

“Clear to engage?!” Annette shouts, hefting Abraxas over her shoulder. “There are still students here!”

“Then finish up quickly,” Catherine says over the comms. “Fraldarius, do you read?”

“Yes.”

“Yes,  _ ma’am _ ,” Catherine corrects. “Provide cover for Dominic while she sets up a shot.”

Felix gives a grunt of assent as he moves Aegis Shield forward, dropping to one knee and planting his shield in the ground. The concrete cracks and splinters under the force of the blow as the shield lodges itself in. 

The giant Demonic Beast lunges again, bloodied fists crashing against Felix’s shield as he braces against it. Aegis Shield trembles, the metal joints crackling and groaning against the pressure.

“How are the braces holding up?” Cyril asks. “Structural integrity is dropping.”

“Fraldarius, you can’t hold that long, you need to-”

Felix smashes Aegis Shield’s shoulder into the back of his kite shield, sending the beast sprawling backwards in the same motion that he draws his sword. He swings it and the orange blade crashes against the Beast’s barrier, crackling with yellow energy as it bounces off. 

Behind him, Annette fumbles with her rifle. “Felix, I can’t get off a shot if you’re in the way! You need to move!”

Felix grunts and slashes his sword across the Beast’s side, his blade glancing harmlessly off with a sizzle. 

“Ingrid, what are you doing?!” Catherine shouts. “Get moving!”

Annette drops her rifle and lunges, Crusher darting past Aegis Shield and smashing its shoulder against the Beast, sending it sprawling back in a shower of yellow sparks. She draws her hammer and smashes it against the Beast’s barrier - it cracks and splinters but doesn’t break as the Beast collapses back, demolishing the front of a school building.

The library, Annette grimaces as she pulls back and braces herself, waiting for a counterattack.

“Ingrid!” Catherine shouts again.

Lúin stands motionless behind the two other Relics, slumped over. 

-

“What’s she doing?” Shamir asks, adjusting her headset. “Galatea, do you read me? What’s happening?”

“Switch to internal camera feed,” Catherine says. 

Shamir does as commanded, typing out an input and switching her display to a surveillance feed inside Lúin’s cockpit. 

Ingrid sits motionless in the pilot’s seat, staring forward, her gaze blank. 

“Ingrid,” Catherine says. “Ingrid, what’s wrong?” 

-

Ingrid’s hands are trembling.

She stares forward, her eyes fixed on the cockpoint viewport, the motion of battle as Annette and Felix fight off the Demonic Beast, wrestling it through the smashed facades of office buildings and classrooms, showers of dirt and glass and glowing sparks as energy pulses between them. 

Aegis Shield moves between the rubble, shield and sword held forward. 

It’s like watching a ghost. No, not like a ghost - ghosts couldn’t affect the physical world. Ingrid would awake from nightmares, drenched in sweat, hair tangled and matted, but the world would remain unchanged. She would awake, alone. 

This isn’t a ghost, then - Aegis Shield is alive, bolted together with metal plates and hinges, a living puppet, a corpse of blood and bone upright and walking, a marionette on SEIROS’ strings. 

Ingrid swallows and clenches her fists around her control sticks. Lúin is motionless. 

Catherine’s voice is steady but distant. “Ingrid, what’s wrong? Your sync levels are dropping.”

Cyril’s voice is softer but no less urgent. “Her vitals are changing. Pulse is up, breathing irregular. Ingrid, can you hear me?” 

Ingrid nods numbly.

“Shit,” Catherine mutters. 

“Heart rate is increasing,” Cyril reports. “Short breaths, dropping cognitive feedback.”

“She’s having a panic attack,” Shamir’s voice is blunt. 

“Shit,” Catherine mutters again. “Annette, Felix-”

“I read you,” Annette reports. She grunts as she smashes her Relic’s shoulder against the beast, sending it crashing into the concrete floor of an open plaza. It skids through grass and stone, kicking up chunks of concrete and uprooting decorative trees. 

“I’m switching to private comms with Ingrid. You two will have to manage.”

In her own cockpit, Annette grits her teeth and grunts as she takes a blow from the Beast’s bloodied gauntlets. The metal fists crash against Crusher and split its armor plating, spilling thick red blood out onto the concrete. 

“I don’t know if we can do that, ma’am,” Annette admits, retracting her hand from one control stick to brace her own stomach, now wracked with pain. “Shit,” she mutters. 

Felix smashes the blunt pommel of his sword against the beast. It howls and strikes back, clawing at Aegis Shield and scraping against its armor. “Is this always how it goes?” he grunts.

“Yeah, pretty much,” Annette says, scrambling to pick up her rifle.

The Beast smashes Aegis Shield to the side, sending Felix and his Relic sprawling to the ground before it charges at Annette.

She picks up her rifle and pulses a shot without aiming. A bolt of energy spills from the end of Abraxas’ barrel and glances off the side of the Demonic Beast, careening away and blasting a hole in the side of an office. 

“Be more careful!” Shamir shouts. 

“Sorry,” Annette grimaces. 

The Demonic Beast roars, its piercing voice crackling her viewscreens and turning her comms into a mess of incomprehensible static before it charges her, crashing against her, smashing its metal head against Crusher’s. The impact cracks Annette’s viewscreen and flickers the cockpit lights. She wrestles against the control sticks, trying to regain power over the situation.

A sizzling blade of energy slams into the Beast’s head, shattering its golden barrier in a shower of sparks and energy. 

“Ingrid!” Annette shouts, unable to stop a smile from creeping across her lips. 

Lúin crashes against the Beast, pushing it back and slicing at it again. The Relic’s motions are sluggish, mechanical, but it’s enough to beat the Beast back and free Crusher from its grip.

“Ingrid,” Annette says as she picks up her rifle again. “Are you alright?” 

“Y-yeah,” Ingrid’s voice is shaky. “I-I’m here.”

“It’s okay.” Crusher’s arm reaches out and pats Lúin’s jagged, bony shoulder. “Let’s finish th-”

Before Annette can finish her sentence, there’s another piercing roar as the Demonic Beast rears its head back and slams into Aegis Shield.

“Felix!” Ingrid’s hoarse shout fuzzes in and out over the comms system as Lúin kicks into gear. “I’m coming!”

“Ingrid, wait-”

“It’s headed for the dining hall,” Felix reports. “Moving to intercept.”

Annette clenches her fists tight around her control sticks and she breaks Crusher into a run, its heavy feet cracking footprints into the concrete of the campus quad. She keeps her rifle raised as she runs, ready to pull the trigger as she rounds the corner of two tall office buildings and skids to a halt by the clear, sparkling pool of water in front of the dining hall. 

Felix bashes the Beast with his shield and it splashes into the pool, sloshing water out over the edges and flooding the walkways. 

Lúin leaps over Aegis Shield, crouched by the edge of the pool, and does a diving slash at the beast. Ingrid’s energy lance slashes through its side, spraying blood into the pool and tinting the water pink. The Beast howls and strikes back, smashing its metal gauntlet into Lúin’s head with a crackle and a snap of steel and bone. 

“Ingrid!” Annette shouts, kneeling and resting Abraxas on the roof of the dining hall. “I can take a shot!”

The Beast smashes into Lúin again, its fist running an uppercut across its chest and connecting with the bottom of its chin. Another crack of bone, and blood begins to pour from Lúin’s chestplate. 

“Hull integrity dropping,” Cyril reports over the comms. “Ingrid, you need to move so Annette can fire!”

“I c-can’t,” Ingrid gasps, wincing. “Lúin’s not responding!”

-

“Her sync rate is down,” Shamir reports, poring over a computer printout. “Her panic spiked her vitals and desynchronized with some of Lúin’s systems.”

Catherine stares at the live video feed, silent.

“Commander,” Shamir spins her chair around. “What are your orders?”

Catherine swallows. “Fraldarius, do you hear me? Get Ingrid out of there!”

Felix grunts his approval and Aegis Shield rumbles to life as he draws his sword. 

Shamir and Cyril turn back to the video displays and the comms unit, issuing commands. Catherine slips her hand into the pocket of her jacket, fingering the cool, slick steel of a thumb drive. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath before leaning over Shamir’s side, ostensibly watching the battle unfolding on her monitor. 

Shamir turns to the side to mutter something to Cyril about coolant levels, Catherine clenches her jaw.

She rests one hand on the desk and with the other slaps the thumb drive into the computer’s drive slot. She stands up and backs away as Shamir turns back to the monitor. 

Catherine breathes slowly and stares at the floor.

-

Felix grits his teeth and slams Aegis Shield into the Beast, cracking its armor against the side of the pool. It scrambles up out of the edge, its tail swiping into Aegis’ face, blocking Felix from pursuing. 

“It’s not responding!” Ingrid shouts again, rattling her control sticks. “Co-Commander, I-”

The shell of the cockpit around her flashes and the video display cuts out, plunging her into wet blackness. The screens flicker back to life, a wave of readings and data and code running by. A band of red text flashes across the screen. 

_ DUMMY PILOT ENGAGED. _

Ingrid grits her teeth and pulls on the control sticks. Nothing. No response.

“Commander!” Ingrid shouts. “Commander, can you hear me?!” She clenches her hands into fists. “Annette? Felix?”

She stares at her gauntlets. The wires spilling from the armrests are dark, darker than she had ever seen them. She looks at her shaking hands.

Blood flows from her into the unresponsive Relic. 

-

“What’s happening?!” Annette shouts over the comms. The Beast charges her, barreling into her and smashing her through the front wall of the dining hall. She looks down at her feet, at a few stray students whose cover was just obliterated by the battle. 

The Beast’s tail swipes across the front of the dining hall, shattering the glass walls and showering fragments inside. 

“Ingrid, respond!” Annette’s voice grows hoarse. “What’s wrong?”

“We’ve switched Lúin over to the dummy profile that we’ve been constructing,” Catherine explains. “She’s fighting with supplemental programming.”

Lúin moves with an uncanny lurch, its footsteps uneven as it climbs out of the pool, blood still dripping from the cracked breastplate. Lúin raises its lance and charges, driving the hot energy blade into the Beast’s back, cracking through spiny layers of bone. It howls its piercing howl and swipes, hitting Lúin again, knocking it to a heap on the concrete. 

“INGRID!” Annette and Felix shout in unison.

Aegis Shield charges, leaping in front of the prone Relic just as the Beast brings its fists down. Felix raises his shield and braces against the hit, grunting at the collision of force. He keeps the shield braced with one arm and draws his sword with the other, swiping the crackling orange blade across the Demonic Beast’s metal gauntlets. 

The blade passes with ease through the metal joints and straps, cutting the gauntlet free. It crashes to the ground, punching a cracked hole in the floor of the dining hall.

Annette braces herself with Abraxas, the butt of the rifle planted firmly in the concrete. She scans the few scattering students with horror.

Ashe, on his backside, holds a shaking arm up, protecting himself from the shower of glass. A few other students, still on their feet, skitter away from the battle, seeking cover.

“Commander, there are civilians here!” Annette reports. “What should I do?”

“Be careful where you step,” Shamir says flatly.

Cyril’s voice sparks to life. “Keep the Beast away from them!” 

“I can only do so much,” Felix grunts, smashing the pommel of his sword into the Beast’s chin. Blood sprays from the cracked metal teeth of its helmet. 

It smashes its head into Felix, knocking him back, and the Beast drops to all fours, skittering back to gather itself. It crashes into the dining hall.

“Ashe!” Annette shouts instinctively, reaching out her hand, Crusher’s hand. Too late, the Beast stumbles, its heavy fists dragging across the floor.

There’s a flurry of movement, another person leaping out to shove Ashe away, moments before the Beast crashes to the ground. 

Annette’s stomach turns and she shoves the image of blood leaking across concrete out of her mind, focusing on the task at hand. “Keep it busy!” she shouts, kneeling Crusher down. 

Felix grasps the tail of the Beast and drags it back, carving a path of blood and debris as he hauls it back to the quad. The Beast squirms and writhes, breaking free and slapping Aegis Shield with its remaining gauntlet. 

“What’s she doing?” Shamir hisses. “Dominic, you can’t unlock your cockpit-”

“Too late,” Annette mutters to herself, fingers fluttering over the digital display set into her armrest. The cockpit hatch opens with a hiss and bright sunlight floods the chamber.

Annette detaches from the cockpit’s seat and pushes herself out before climbing up onto the edge of the hatch.

“ASHE!” she shouts down at Ashe, quivering and bloody. “CLIMB IN!” 

“No!” Catherine shouts. “Absolutely not!”

“He’s going to die if he stays here!” Annette cries.

“No civilians on board,” Shamir says. “We have no idea how it will - oh, and she’s gone.”

Annette climbs further out of the cockpit, one arm keeping her anchored to the hatch edge while the other gropes for Ashe. “Ashe, grab my hand!” 

“A-Annette?!” Ashe blinks his tears away. “What are you-”

“No time!” Annette’s gaze flashes between Ashe and the battle just outside. “Get in!” 

Ashe lifts his hand up, his fingers slipping on the slick of Annette’s plugsuit glove. She hauls him up the side of the Relic and leaps into the cockpit with a splash of red, tugging Ashe in after her. 

“It’s okay!” she says as he cries out in a burst of bubbles. “You can breathe it!” 

Ashe’s eyes are wild, fearful, his chest heaving as he tries desperately to swim back to the cockpit hatch.

Annette climbs into the pilot’s seat and hooks herself back in, sliding the hatch shut with a metallic hiss and slipping her arms back onto the armrests. “What’s the status?”

“The status is you’re going to get yourself killed!” Catherine shouts. “What were you thinking!”

Behind Annette, Ashe gasps for air, clawing at his throat until a burst of bubbles explodes from his mouth. He coughs and sputters, his lungs filling with the thick red cockpit fluid. 

“You’re okay,” Annette says to him. “You’re safe.” 

She brings Crusher to life, the metal and wires sparking to motion as she stands up and grasps for her rifle. 

“A little - A little help!” Felix grunts. He slashes his sword across the Beast’s stomach, spilling more blood out onto the concrete. 

“Aligning targeting now,” Annette says, dropping to one knee and lifting her rifle. “Cyril?” 

“Ready to fire in five seconds. Four seconds.”

Felix smashes Aegis Shield into the Beast, staggering it. 

“Three. Two.”

The Beast bends its head back and roars.

Annette squeezes the trigger and Abraxas pulses, a fine line of energy spitting out from the barrel. It pierces the Beast’s head, followed by an explosion of energy and metal.

The Beast’s mask cracks and splinters, broken to pieces by the shot.

“It took a hit from Abraxas!” Cyril shouts.

“I noticed!” Shamir responds. “Annette, prepare to fire!” 

Annette glances back at Lúin, laying motionless in a heap of rubble and debris. Her rifle hums, a digital display on her viewscreen showing its charge level. 

Felix draws his sword again, lifting it and catching the Beast’s mouth, the blade blocking it gnashing teeth as they tear at the air between them. Eyes bubble on its skin, tilting to face Felix, swiveling to survey Annette as she prepares another shot.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Felix says, pulling his sword out from the Beast’s mouth in a shatter of teeth. He reaches Aegis Shield’s arms out and grasps the Beast, keeping it in place while Annette pulses off another shot.

The beam of energy pierces through the Demonic Beast’s head, slicing through its leathery skin with ease. And then the explosion of light, the Beast’s head vaporizing into a red mist. The rest of the Beast’s body follows suit, torn apart to bloody shreds by the blast, splattering Aegis Shield, the quad, and the nearby class buildings with thick, sticky blood. 

Aegis Shield drops to its knees, Felix letting out a sigh.

Annette drops Abraxas’ barrel down, pushing it into the dirt and using it to prop up her exhausted frame. Crusher slumps against it, its head tilted towards Lúin’s prone, blood-soaked frame.

Cyril swallows before speaking. “Target neutralized.” 

Annette slides out of the pilot’s chair, her arms shaking with exhaustion as she tries to push Ashe up to a sitting position. She checks to make sure he’s still there - still breathing, at least. That’s something, she thinks, as he slumps forwards again. Annette supports him and relaxes back into her seat, breathing hard. 


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette and the other pilots face the fallout from the disastrous battle at the Officer's Academy. Felix confronts Ingrid about their shared history, and Ingrid opens up to Annette.

No one is willing to talk.

They’re sitting around a conference table in the SEIROS facility conference room - the pilots in their plugsuits, Catherine at the opposite end of the table, smoking a cigarette. She inhales slowly, sighs, and crushes the end into an ashtray. 

Annette fidgets nervously, her hands in her lap. Her nervous habits are unfortunately blocked by her plugsuit, so she can’t mess with anything, just tap her leg and try not to look at the commander. 

Ingrid sits next to her, head bowed, hair untied and messy on her shoulders. She’s staring at the table, motionless. She hadn’t spoken during decontamination. None of them had.

Felix looks bored more than anything else.

Catherine sighs and lights another cigarette. 

“What was that?” she asks at last, her voice breaking the silence. 

“It was-” Ingrid stammers.

“I didn’t-” Annette speaks louder, now that the silence is broken. Their voices overlap, incoherent. Felix rests his elbow on the table. 

Catherine lashes out, pounding a fist on the table and rattling it. “I’ll tell you what it was. It was a fucking disaster.”

Annette winces, tucking her head down. “I’m sorry, ma’am.”

Catherine shakes her head angrily and flips through a stapled packet of papers on the table in front of her. “Where do I even begin?” 

“I’m sorry,” Ingrid says instinctively. “I...I messed up.”

Catherine sighs and lets her paper drop. She rubs her temples, wisps of smoke curling up from her cigarette. “Ingrid, it’s not…” she pauses again and takes a deep breath. “Dead civilians. Millions of dollars in collateral damage. A civilian brought on board a Relic. Disobeying direct orders. Extensive damage to all three Relics.” She takes another slow drag on her cigarette. “Annette, we’re well within our rights to have you court-martialed.” 

Annette tips her face downwards and stares at the table.

“What happened to my Relic?” Ingrid asks, frowning. “Dummy pilot?”

“Your sync rate was too low for effective combat,” Catherine says, thumbing through her papers. “Preventative measures needed to be taken.”

“What?” Annette leans forward. “What are you saying?”

Beside Ingrid, Felix’s scowl deepens, his brow furrowing. He still says nothing. 

“I’m saying she screwed up. This operation was a total shitshow.”

“We killed the Beast, didn’t we?” Annette asks. “That’s our job!” 

Catherine shakes her head. “Your job is to defend the city.”

“Why didn’t you know about the Beast earlier, then?!” Annette throws up her hands. 

Ingrid shoots her a nervous glance and shakes her head. 

“We’re the ones out there getting hurt and putting ourselves in danger!” Annette continues, the message unheard or unheeded. “You don’t even know what the Relics ARE and-”

“Shut  _ up _ , Annette!” Catherine snaps, pounding her fist on the table again. “Just  _ shut up _ . I’m not your mother, I’m your commanding officer. You cannot talk back to me like this.”

Annette grits her teeth and sits up, taken aback. “What?”

“I’m your commanding officer,” Catherine says again. “If you don’t obey my orders, it is insubordination. Am I clear?”

“Ashe would have died!” 

“Am I clear?”

Annette purses her lips and bows her head. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good.” Catherine sits up and pushes her chair in. “I need to oversee repairs. We can talk about what we’re going to do about the three of you tomorrow.”

-

The addition of a new pilot meant the changing of the locker room and undressing procedures. Naturally, the ever-resourceful Catherine bought a folding screen and divided the locker room into two halves. 

Annette sits on the wooden bench in front of her locker and begins to unfasten the clasps of her plugsuit, tugging it down and letting it pool around her feet before picking her clothes out of her locker. 

Ingrid sits next to her, unmoving, her eyes distant.

“Are you okay, Ingrid?” Annette asks, tugging her shirt down over her torso. “I was really worried that you had gotten hurt.”

Ingrid blinks, shaking her haze out and forcing a smile. “What? Yeah, of course. I’m fine.”

“Fine?” Annette grimaces and sits down to lace up her boots. “The dummy pilot cut off your comms, you could have been-”

“It’s fine, Annette,” Ingrid shakes her head. “I’m okay. Don’t worry about it.”

“Well, I’m going to worry, okay?” Annette folds her arms over her chest, her uniform wrinkling from the force of it. “I don’t know what they’re doing with these Relics, but-”

The screen scrapes across the floor and Annette yelps.

“Felix!” she shouts, covering her fully clothed body out of instinct. “What are you-”

“You can see silhouettes through the screen,” Felix says flatly. “I know you were dressed.”

Ingrid frowns and looks up at him but says nothing. 

“Is this how it always goes?” he asks, sitting heavily on the bench next to Ingrid, facing the opposite direction. He’s still in his plugsuit, too, making Annette feel like the odd one out. 

Ingrid nods. 

“It’s such a crock of shit,” Felix mutters, shaking his head. He reaches up to untie his short, dark ponytail. He shakes his hair out and runs a hand through it in frustration. 

“Why are you here, then?” Ingrid frowns, looking up. “No one’s forcing you.”

“I needed to know,” he says. He lashes a leg out, kicking the cheap folding screen. “I can’t believe Glenn would get involved with a shitshow like this.”

“He believed in it,” Ingrid says, furrowing her brow. “He wanted to help people! Just like me. Just like Annette.”

Annette blinks, surprised to have been brought into it.

Felix scoffs. “I don’t think you know him very well if you honestly believe that.” 

“I knew him better than you think I did,” Ingrid says, frowning and staring at her feet. 

Felix tilts his head up. “What did you say?”

“What?” Ingrid asks, looking up. “N-nothing, I-”

“What’s that supposed to mean?!” Felix sits up, suddenly angry. 

“Nothing,” Ingrid says, standing up. “I need to get changed.”

“You knew about all of this,” Felix says, standing up and facing her. It’s not a question. “The whole time, you knew. And you never said anything.”

Ingrid rests her hand on her locker’s latch and swallows. “I...I couldn’t,” she says hoarsely. “I’m sorry.”

“Sorry?!” Felix shouts. “Glenn is  _ dead _ , and who’s next? You? Me? Her?” he throws his hand up, gesturing at Annette. “This is all bullshit, and you know it.”

Ingrid clenches her hand into a fist and punches her locker. “Shut UP!” she whips around. 

Annette backs away, uncomfortable to see the door to the locker room is past the two other pilots.

“What do you know?” Ingrid shouts. “He was a good pilot! Better than any of us will ever be.” She throws her hands up in the air. “None of what happened today would have happened if he were still here.” 

“Oh, so it’s my fault, then?” Felix says. “That I’m not as good as him, is that it?”

Ingrid shakes her head, clenched fists trembling in frustration. She blinks and tries very hard not to let the tears shining in her eyes slip down her cheeks. “He…” she exhales a shaky breath. “He was a good pilot,” she repeats, quieter. “He wanted to help people.”

“What would you know about what he wants?” 

“He was my partner!” Ingrid snaps.

“He was my brother.”

Something in Ingrid seems to splinter. Her fists drop to her side, motionless, her whole body still, like Felix’s words dealt a killing blow. She blinks and tears drip onto the bench between them. 

Felix rounds the bank of lockers and returns to the ‘men’s side’ of the locker room, yanking the screen back up and scraping it across the floor. Ingrid and Annette can hear the loud slam of a locker door.

“Come on, Ingrid,” Annette says softly, touching her arm. “Let’s go home.”

-

It’s a silent and agonizingly slow trip home. The trains are crowded - packed with people from the school, students forced out of their dorms, employees and emergency workers and repair company workers, and Annette sandwiched between them, her tape player on, her headphones resting in her orange hair. 

Ingrid doesn’t speak, just stares out the window at the passing city. 

There are delays at every station - ten minutes at some, twenty at another. The sun sinks lower and lower over the city, plunging behind the skyline, and the lights come up. Office buildings, sirens, cars, people. 

Annette’s tape clicks, flips, repeats. She watches the teeth inside the tape reels spin.

Catherine doesn’t come home with them. Annette leans her head back against the window and closes her eyes. She doesn’t think Catherine will be coming home at all, tonight. Too much work to do. 

_ Too much work that’s her fault _ . 

She sighs and digs through her bag, snapping her phone open. No texts or calls. Ashe is still in the hospital - the SEIROS wing, guarded. Last she heard it was mostly shock. A message pops up from Mercie. 

[Heard about the news. Hope everyone’s okay.]

Annette stares at the message before snapping her phone shut again. She sighs and slips it back into her bag. Columns of smoke hover over the Academy campus, glowing orange in the sunlight.. 

The apartment is dark when they get home, all the lights are off. Ingrid drops her bag and kicks off her boots and trudges into the darkness of the apartment, disappearing in the direction of the bathroom. 

Annette sighs and pulls her boots off before flicking the lights on. 

The apartment is a mess - Catherine’s typical clutter, aided by the stress of a new pilot and the past few days. Annette brushes a few beer cans into a plastic bag and paces around the apartment, picking up trash and dumping out an ashtray crammed with cigarettes. She sighs and carries the garbage down the hall to the compactor and walks slowly back.

She can’t bear to be in the silence of the apartment, alone, so she sits on the balcony instead, the wind in her hair and her earphones muting the world. She watches the city lights flicker and twinkle, spread out before her. A city they had vowed to protect.

Annette pulls her knees up to her chest and rests her face against them, breathing slowly. She tries to hum along to her music, until her tape clicks and the player switches off, its batteries run dry.

She sighs and stands up, pulling her headphones off and shaking out her hair.

It’s still cold and empty in the apartment, everything untouched from how she had left it. She sets her player down on the coffee table and frowns.

“Ingrid?” she asks in the direction of the bedroom. She sticks her head in. 

The light is on in the bathroom, so she knocks softly. 

“Ingrid, are you in there?”

She can hear motion, a scraping sound, a soft patter of metal. She frowns. 

“I’m coming in, okay?” 

Ingrid is hunched over the sink, in her sports bra and underwear, both hands bracing her against the basin, her face staring into the drain, where sheafs of blonde hair have piled. Two of her fingers are stuck through the handle of a silver pair of scissors. 

“Ingrid…” Annette exhales, stepping towards her.

Ingrid’s face is gaunt and tired-looking, her eyes rimmed in red and her cheeks stained with dried tears. Her braid coils in the sink like a golden snake. 

“Annette,” Ingrid looks up, blinking slowly. “I’m...I’m sorry,” she drops her scissors to the edge of the sink and lifts her hand to brush aside her now-short tangled bangs. She puts her face in her hands.

“Let me help,” Annette says softly, picking the scissors up and reaching her free hand up to brush aside Ingrid’s hair. She combs out loose strands with her fingers, unconsciously humming as she works.

She hadn’t had much experience cutting hair - she trimmed Mercie’s, here and there, but beyond that it’s all guesswork. Anything is better than Ingrid’s current hairstyle, a hasty job of blades hacking against her thick, soft hair. 

Annette gently strokes the back of her scalp as she combs her hair back, tidying the messy tangle that used to be the roots of her braid. She cuts here and there, snipping and trimming, showering more hair into the sink like a snow of fine gold strands.

“Can you turn?” Annette asks quietly, using her hand to guide Ingrid around. “I’m going to neaten up your bangs, okay?”

Ingrid nods, her eyes glassy and pink. 

Annette leans over her, snipping back her jagged, uneven bangs. “Just to make it match the back better.” She gestures to the closed toilet. “Can you sit? Sorry, I can’t reach super well.”

Ingrid is quiet while Annette works, cutting her hair, brushing it, cutting, brushing. Annette’s fingers are gentle and inquisitive, combing and styling Ingrid’s hair into tentative styles, checking lengths, helping flare out feathered locks. 

“I’m sorry,” Ingrid finally says, her voice hoarse and quiet.

“For what?” Annette combs her fingers through her bangs.

“Dragging you into that fight. Making you...see that.”

“It’s okay,” Annette says. She forces a hollow laugh. “Sounded a lot like how my father and I talk, really.”

“Commander Dominic?” 

Annette nods and rinses off the blades of her scissors. 

Ingrid tilts her head down, resting her face in her hands while Annette roots through the bathroom for a comb, unsure what to say.

“Glenn and I were-”

“You don’t have to talk about it,” Annette says, standing up. “Really.”

“No, I…” Ingrid looks up at Annette’s kind, patient face. “I owe it to you.” She sits up straighter while Annette combs her hair. 

“He was your partner, right?” Annette asks.

Ingrid nods. “Yeah. He was part of the SEIROS program before me, so when I joined, I…” she purses her lips. “I really looked up to him, you know? He was everything I wanted to be. He’s what...what a pilot  _ should _ be.” She rests her hands in her lap, squeezing her fingers tight. 

“Were you two…” Annette asks, trailing off, unsure how to phrase it. “Close?”

Ingrid nods again. “We weren’t...well, he was my partner. We trained together, we ate together, we…” Ingrid bows her head. “We’d rest together.”

Annette stares at Ingrid’s hair, trying to ignore the twisting discomfort in her chest. She snips back a stray lock.

“When he died, Felix and I were…” Ingrid sighs. “Rodrigue hoped it would bring us closer, but Felix became so...angry, withdrawn.”

“Yeah, he seems a little standoffish.”

Ingrid nods. “I just tried to put myself into my work, and it was so easy to...I just wanted to make him proud.” She squeezes her eyes shut and sniffles. “Seeing Aegis Shield like that just...brought it all back.”

“I’m going to wash your hair, okay?” Annette asks, running the sink. She wets her comb and reaches for a bottle of dry shampoo - one of Catherine’s, she thinks. 

Ingrid doesn’t say anything while Annette washes her hair, wetting and cleaning it before reaching for a hand towel to gently pat it dry. 

“Are you afraid of…” Annette stares at the towel obscuring Ingrid’s head. “Of it happening again?” 

“What do you mean?”

“Losing someone…” Annette strokes Ingrid’s head with the towel, drying as she goes. She shakes her head. “I’m scared to lose you too.” 

Ingrid is silent, motionless save the rise and fall of her chest. 

Annette sets her scissors down on the sink and tilts Ingrid’s head back, just slightly, just enough to use both hands to brush back her hair, to gently hold the back of her head as she looks over her work. 

She doesn’t realize how close she is to Ingrid’s face until she can feel her exhale, see the slight part of her lips as she breathes out, the twitch of her closed, reddened eyelids. Annette’s thumbs brush the dried tearstains on Ingrid’s cheeks. 

Ingrid lets out a soft noise, surprised at the touch, so Annette pulls back, letting her hands drop from Ingrid as she blushes and turns her attention to the sink. 

-

Catherine still isn’t home.

The apartment is dark, the only light coming from the twinkling city skyline through the windows. Annette pulls the curtains shut and changes out of her school uniform and into her pajamas. Her whole body is sore, her head aches, her stomach hurts, and she still feels woozy from fighting in Crusher, but she’s home. She’s safe, and Ingrid is safe. That’s what matters.

And Ashe…

Ashe is safe, she reminds herself. He’s alive, and mostly unhurt. Everything else can come out in the wash. 

She hums to herself as she unmakes the bed, tidies her books on her nightstand, and turns the ceiling light off and her lamp on. She’s sifting through the bedside table drawer for spare batteries for her tape player when the door cracks open and Ingrid pads inside, dressed in her own pale nightclothes.

“Hey,” she says quietly, balling up her dirty clothes and throwing them into their shared laundry basket. 

“Hey,” Annette smiles, looking up. 

“How does it look?” Ingrid grimaces, running a hand through her wet hair.

“Cute!” Annette says, and she means it. “Short hair really suits you.”

“Does it…” Ingrid blushes, turning away. 

Annette turns away, too, back to looking through the bedside table drawer. “Do you have any batteries? My tape player is out.”

Ingrid furrows her brow. “I’m not sure.” She yawns. “We can look in the morning, okay?”

She sidles past Annette and climbs onto the bed, slipping under the covers. 

“Are you just going to sleep with your hair like that?” Annette asks.

Ingrid props herself up on one elbow. “Yeah?”

Annette purses her lips. “No. Let me get you a towel.”

“Wh-what?” Ingrid protests, but too late Annette grabs a folded hand towel from the closet and pads across the room. 

She climbs onto the bed at Ingrid’s side and towels her hair off. “You’ll get the pillows soaked and wake up with terrible bedhead. Trust me.”

Ingrid squirms like a wet cat as Annette pats her hair dry. 

“There, good,” Annette says, pulling the towel back and reaching out to tousle Ingrid’s hair. She frowns, pinning a lock of Ingrid’s hair between her finger and thumb. 

“Wh...what?” Ingrid asks.

“Did you…” Annette tilts her head forward and sniffs the air. “Did you wash your hair with bar soap?!” 

“What?” Ingrid protests, pulling back. “So?” 

“Just use shampoo!” Annette giggles, resting back on her legs. “You have to take care of your cute new haircut.” 

Ingrid, blushing, glances away. “Okay, fine.”

Annette reaches out again, tracing her fingers down the hair that frames Ingrid’s cheek. “It’ll make your hair softer, too.”

“Okay, okay,” Ingrid says. “I’m exhausted, so I’m going to sleep.” She reaches across the bed and swipes the lamp switch, plunging them into darkness.

Annette kneels on the bed, her eyes not yet adjusting, listening to the sound of Ingrid shifting under the covers. She exhales slowly and takes a deep breath before crawling into bed beside Ingrid. 

Ingrid doesn’t protest when Annette wraps one arm around her side, pulling her close. 

She can feel Ingrid’s breath hitch, though. Feel her heartbeat pulsing. Annette presses her forehead against Ingrid. She smells freshly washed, clean, but still like Ingrid, still familiar and comforting. Annette dares to lift her lips and press them against the back of Ingrid’s neck, now exposed under her shorter hair. 

A startled whimper spills from Ingrid’s throat before being muted. Ingrid shivers, her breath shortening, her heartbeats quicker. 

Annette kisses her neck again. 

Ingrid shifts, rolling over in the dark, to face Annette, and Annette pulls back, worried that she’s overstepped her bounds, that she’s made Ingrid uncomfortable, worried that - 

Ingrid wraps her arms around Annette and tucks her face against Annette’s shoulder.

Annette holds her, both of them wrapped around the other, safe and warm and exhausted together in the dark of the bedroom. 


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Annette comes to terms with the realities of piloting and ponders what she is fighting for.

Catherine takes a deep breath before climbing down into the cockpit. It’s dark, stale, musty. She makes a face as she ducks down and drops to the floor with a dull thump. A voice outside the cockpit echoes, crackling over low-fi radio. It’s muffled by the shell around her.

“Can you hear me, Catherine?” 

Catherine reaches up to press a switch on the radio affixed to her shoulder. “Loud and clear.” 

“How does it look?”

Catherine grimaces, surveying the cockpit. “It’s wet,” she says, touching the pilot’s seat gingerly. Even through her plugsuit, she can feel the slick, red wetness. Thick, like gelatin. She grimaces and wipes her hand on her hips. “Are you sure about this, ma’am?”

The Director’s voice crackles with statis, but her demeanor is clear. “Of course.”

Catherine makes a face and climbs into the pilot’s seat, settling back. She leans forward, scanning the cockpit. It’s a rudimentary setup, a chair with straps, seatbelts, three hundred and sixty degrees of motion. Wires spill out from it, bundled together with electrical tape, pouring into junction boxes. The wires all lead up, out of the cockpit hatch. Catherine sits forward and reaches up to press her radio. “Are you sure?”

“Catherine.”

Catherine inhales slowly and sits forward, pressing her hands together. If she were a praying woman, she would. But she isn’t, so she reaches into the toolbag slung around her side and fishes out glass vials filled with a dark, murky liquid. Masking tape is stuck on them, labeled with black marker.  _ Catherine - Charon _ . She shakes the vials and the blood inside swirls. 

In front of her on the floor, there is a Crest, and encircling it, more wires, more metal. Empty circular slots.

She presses a vial into one of the slots and turns it with a click. And then the second, and then the third. She flicks her radio on. “Rhea? You there?”

“Yes, Catherine.”

“All ready to go in here. Let me buckle in and we can get started.” She climbs back into the pilot seat and straps herself in, wrapping leather belts and buckles around her shoulders and waist before flicking her radio on. She takes a deep, steadying breath and lifts her arms up to tug her loose blonde hair into a ponytail. “Okay.”

“Ready?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Catherine says, closing her eyes. 

The Director’s voice is audible over the radio. “Firing turbines now.”

There’s another voice, curt and masculine. “Fifteen percent and rising.”

Catherine can feel the hum of electricity coursing through the wires around her. Her breaths quicken. 

“Forty percent,” the voice reports. 

“It’s dropping,” the Director cuts in. “Engaging auxiliary power systems now.”

“Sixty-five and stable.”

“That will have to do,” the Director replies. “Catherine, we’re starting the process now.”

“O-Okay,” Catherine exhales sharply. Her heart pulses in her chest, hard and arrhythmic, fear coursing through her veins with each pump of blood.

In front of her, around the Crest, the metal bracing sparks to life, a centrifuge spinning to power. The inverted vials of blood click and drop lower, pouring thick flows of red into the Crest’s lines. 

Catherine stares, watching her blood seeping into the floor. 

“Rhea,” she says, her voice shaking.

“What’s wrong?”

“I…” Catherine blinks. “I don’t feel good.”

“It’s okay,” the Director says. “Nausea is expected.”

“N-No,” Catherine shakes her head, closing her eyes. She can smell blood, thick and red and metallic, and she can smell the wetness of the cockpit, rot and slick metal and darkness all around. She fights back the urge to retch. “S-something’s happening.”

In front of her, the Crest shimmers, orange light piercing up through the film of red blood, orange light glowing brighter.

“Levels rising,” the male voice reports. “Sixty-seven.”

Catherine swallows and leans her head back, staring straight up, trying to keep the vertigo from setting in.

“Seventy.”

“Director-” Catherine stumbles, but she can’t get the words out. Her tongue feels thick in her throat, her vision dancing with sparks and spots. She can taste blood and bile in the back of her throat. “R-Rhea, I’m-”

“Seventy-three.”

The glow from the Crest grows, encroaching on Catherine’s vision, even as she looks away. It’s blinding white light, bright enough to pierce her skull with bolts of pain. She lurches forward, tripping over wires, and falls against the side of the cockpit. Her head spins and her lungs burn. She coughs red.

“Seventy-eight. Rhea, what’s happening in there?” 

The Director says nothing.

“Eighty-six. Levels are spiking.”

Thick red liquid leaks from the walls of the cockpit, bursting from the seams in the metal plating. Catherine drops to her knees, coughing. Everything is bright and painful. She collapses onto the wet floor. 

“Catherine!” the Director shouts. “Catherine, respond!”

“Ninety-five.”

“Shut it down, Cichol!” the Director shouts, her voice crackling and overmodulating over the radio. 

Catherine, slumped to the ground, stares at the open cockpit hatch, dazed. She can feel something grasp her, pull her. Words she can’t parse spilling over her ears. She feels limp and numb and can’t open her mouth without blood pouring from her lips. “Rh-Rhea-” she speaks through blood.

Rhea hauls her out of the cockpit, dragging her out and down the narrow metal scaffolding built around the Relic’s bony frame. She’s stronger than her size betrays, strong enough to toss Catherine’s slender body over her shoulder. Catherine smears red over Rhea’s labcoat, drifting in and out of consciousness.

Through the flashes of black, she can see the Relic’s frame glowing, a brilliant, blinding white light. The metal restraints gone, obscured by the white glare or vanished entirely. 

“Rhea!” Cichol shouts.

“Shut it down!” Rhea’s voice rings in Catherine’s ear, echoing. 

The Relic glows, shimmering, sparking as bright yellow fields flicker around it. Shapes sprout from its bony, glowing spine, wings that splay out like great flaps of flesh, slapping against the ground with a heavy thud. 

The whole cavern shakes, sparks and flames erupting from the wires and junction boxes piled haphazardly around the Relic’s body. It slumps over, an angelic form, spiny and white and jagged, kneeling. Light ripples out from its top, concentric circles of yellow pulsing outward, each shaking the cavern.

Rhea hauls Catherine away, as fast as her boots will carry them, until she stumbles and falls, tripping over a junction box and collapsing the two of them into a heap. Behind them, Catherine can see flames - collapsed metal, chunks of falling rock, fire and sparks and flashing lights. She curls against Rhea, who shields her with her torn and soot-singed labcoat.

Catherine fades in and out of consciousness, but each time her eyes open, she can see it - the massive glowing figure, surrounded by flames.

-

Catherine jolts to wakefulness, throwing back the twisted sheets that wound around her body, gasping for breath. Her hair is tangled and matted, her pillow damp with sweat or tears, and she clutches her hands into fists around herself, holding herself tight, rocking back and forth until she can stop herself from shaking.

She can still smell the scent of blood and burning flesh, scents imprinted into her memory. 

The digital clock blinks at her. 4am. Time for work.

She lets herself fall backwards and her head thumps against her pillow.

-

Annette brings Ashe flowers when she visits.

She stops at a stall on the way there and keeps the bundle of colors clasped to her chest as she rides the elevator up the cold, sterile floors of the Garreg Mach hospital. She’s stopped at the door to verify her ID, and then stopped again by two men in military fatigues, with guns slung around their shoulders. She holds out her little plastic SEIROS card each time.

Ashe is sitting up in bed when she steps through the door into the blinding whiteness of the hospital room. The window looks out on the city and a bright, cloudless day. Ashe looks up from his book when Annette enters.

“Annette!” he smiles brightly, closing his book. 

“Hey, Ashe,” she replies, stepping closer to the bed sheepishly. His arms are covered with bandages and an IV drip runs from his arm. Annette grimaces weakly. “Um...I brought you these,” she says, holding out her flowers. “A Get Well Soon present.”

“Thank you, Annette. They’re beautiful.”

“Are you doing okay?” Annette asks, setting the flowers on the bedside table. Ashe looks worse closer up - his face bruised, his lip split, the hint of stitches sticking out from under some of his bandages. “They treating you alright?”

Ashe laughs. “Well, I’ve been getting fed, if that’s what you’re asking. Beyond that, I haven’t been able to speak to or see anyone.” He makes a face. “Oh, gosh, Dedue probably thinks I’m dead!” 

“I’ll make sure he knows you’re alright,” Annette says. She sighs. “They gave me a whole bundle of rules to follow if I was going to come in to see you, but I figured it’s better than leaving you in the dark.”

“Such as?”

“Well...I’m not supposed to talk about the Relics.”

Ashe is unable to hide his disappointment. “I can’t believe you’re one of the pilots…” he looks up at her. “This whole time? Since the press conference?” 

“Since before that,” Annette confesses, rubbing the back of her scalp. “But really,” she steps forwards and rests a hand on the back of his. “You’re okay, right?”

He lifts his bandaged arms. “Yeah, these are mostly cuts from broken glass. I guess Professor Byleth saved me from the worst of it.”

Annette frowns. “Professor Byleth?”

Ashe nods somberly. “They were taking shelter in the dining hall, too, with some of the Adrestian students. If they hadn’t been there…” his hand trembles under Annette’s touch, and when he looks up his eyes are shimmering. “Seeing them get crushed like that, was just…” Ashe puts his face in his hands, his shoulders trembling. 

Annette sits on the edge of the hospital bed and drapes an arm gingerly around his shoulders. “I’m so sorry, Ashe.”

He swallows and sits up, blinking back tears. “That would have been me.”

“I’m sorry,” Annette bows her head. “If we had just fought better-”

“No,” Ashe shakes his head and wipes his nose with the back of one hand. “No, Annette, you were amazing. Think about how much worse it would be if you hadn’t been there to stop that monster…” He blinks tears out of the corners of his eyes. “You saved us, Annette. All of…” he bows his head. “Almost all of us.” He sniffs and forces a smile. “You saved the Academy.”

_ Almost _ sticks in Annette’s mind, a word branded onto her thoughts. She leaves Ashe a few presents - a worn paperback book from Catherine’s house and some snacks she had managed to smuggle in, and she exits the way she came in. Past the big glass windows, past the armed guards, down the elevator.

Each step, the word pricks her like a needle.

_ Almost. Almost everyone. _

Professor Byleth…

Annette didn’t know them well, really just the few times they had met in passing, but it’s still strange to think about. All the damage their battles do - shattered streets and crushed apartments and destroyed office buildings - all of it is someone’s life. Someone’s home, someone’s job, someone’s life. It had always felt so abstract - in the cockpit, Annette feels like someone else, like some _ thing _ else, but now she thinks of Ashe and his bandaged arms, and how it could have been him crushed. 

She stops in the lobby restroom to splash cold water on her face and take a drink before heading back out of the hospital, back out into the city she had saved. 

It sure doesn’t feel that way. 

The academy is closed, classes put on hiatus indefinitely - at least until repairs are done, but probably longer. Students living in the dorms - students like Ashe - are either going to go home or find somewhere in the city to stay while the SEIROS cleanup crews scrub blood from the windows and pick up all the pieces of meat and metal and bone. 

Annette walks to the train station, headphones on, drowning out the sounds of the city at midday. 

Ingrid had been gone when Annette had woken up. Her schoolbag was gone too, and her boots, though her uniform was left tossed in an unkempt pile, where it had lain since the night before. She was out in the city, then. Somewhere out in those vast stretches of silver and blue and noise and sunlight. 

The train rattles past a park, blowing the branches of trees back as it goes. 

She doesn’t want to go to work. She doesn’t want to see Catherine, or Shamir, or Felix, or hear her father’s name. She doesn’t want to see the Relics, either. She closes her eyes and tries to push thoughts of the Relics out of her mind.

She’s started to notice it while dozing - the way she’s so used to sitting in that pilot’s chair, the way it makes her feel - when dozing, she feels that way again. The slipping sense of self, the floating limbs, until the train hits a bump and she’s snapped back to reality, back inside her own body.

Her tape player clicks and rewinds. 

She doesn’t get off at the stop she usually does for SEIROS. She doesn’t get off at the next one, either, or the next. The train bypasses the academy stop and continues its long loop, rattling on the rails. 

She watches as commuters board and disembark, as younger students from the primary education schools climb around on the seats, parents and children and everything else, the city flowing in and out of the silver traincar. 

She sighs and leans back against the window. The train blows past another station, and another, and another, and then she’s out of the city, in the thin band of suburbs around the city, houses crammed together in haphazard piles on narrow streets. She follows telephone wires with her eyes. 

Her tape player clicks and rewinds.

The suburbs end, too, and then it’s mountains and forest and she can see down the slopes, far, far below. Adrestia, she thinks, or maybe Faerghus. She hadn’t been paying attention to the stations. 

The sun sinks lower in the sky, bathing the ridges of rock and trees and meadows in firelight, and then purple shadow. The only light out here is the train tracks, periodic spacing of bright white at open-air stations. No one else is on the train. She sits forward and stares at her feet. 

_ Now approaching Macuil Station. This will be the final stop. Please watch your step as you depart the train.  _

Her tape player clicks off. 

She stands up slowly, numbly, a colossus rising from slumber, shaking off a day’s accumulation of dust and debris, and she lumbers towards the exit. 

The platform is empty, a barren concrete walkway with a bench and a ramshackle sheet-metal roof overtop. She sits on the bench and rests her face in her hands. 

The fluorescent station lights buzz overhead, casting an artificial white glow on everything around her - the grass and dirt, the trees, the train tracks heading backwards, the empty traincar. She can hear owls. No owls at Garreg Mach - the city is too dense, too clean, too packed with metal and wires and people to hold more than cicadas.

It’s cold, and she wraps her arms around herself and stares at her boots. Her boots. Not someone else’s feet. Her own. She taps one toe against the concrete. Just to be sure. 

Catherine would be angry that she didn’t show up at SEIROS. So would Ingrid, probably. And Gilbert.

Annette sighs and lifts her head, letting it rest back against the bench. 

Her father would be angry. And disappointed. She curls her hand into a fist, gripping her knee. She doesn’t care. She never has. Not since the day he walked out, the day he left her and her mother. Since then, he has been a stranger. 

She decides then.

_ I am not going to pilot a Relic _ .

She can’t, not if she fails to protect the city she has sworn to. Foolish, foolish Annette. She blinks, squeezing her eyes shut. No one is here to see her cry, but she doesn’t want to, anyway. What right does she have to shed tears? When others had lost so much more. When Ingrid had lost so much more.

She chokes back a whimper and sits up, wiping her eyes.

There’s a scrape of concrete behind her and she bolts upright, fear rippling through her spine.

She can hear an idling car engine, the open and slam shut of a door. She can smell gasoline and cheap cigarettes. She knows who is standing on the station platform without even looking.

“I figured you’d be here.”

Annette looks up, her eyes dark and somber. 

Catherine sighs and sits down next to her. “Rough day?” She exhales smoke and drops her cigarette, crushing it under her bootheel.

“How did you find me here?” 

Catherine leans back against the bench and sticks her hands in the pockets of her jacket. “SEIROS likes to keep an eye on its property.” She says. “Your ID card is traceable.” 

“Of course.” 

Neither of them say anything. They sit in silence together, in the fluorescent light, surrounded by the shadows of nighttime. Annette stares at her feet. Catherine lights another cigarette, snapping her lighter open and flicking the sparkwheel. She sighs again, audibly. 

“Come on, kid.”

“I’m not piloting anymore,” Annette says quietly. 

Catherine purses her lips, mulling the statement over in her mind. “Why not?”

“Because I…” Annette clenches her hands into fists. “Because if I can’t protect people, what use am I? To anyone?”

“So that’s it, then?” Catherine asks. “One screw-up and you’re throwing in the towel?”

“It’s not just that,” Annette protests. “I’m…” she swallows. “I’m afraid of the Relics. I don’t even know what they  _ are _ . I don’t want to be inside one ever again.”

“Okay.”

Annette sits up and frowns. “Okay?”

Catherine nods. “We’ll get your ID card wiped tomorrow. You’ll have some paperwork to sign, NDAs, that sort of thing.” 

For some reason, the simplicity of Catherine’s answer surprises her. “Wh...What will happen to Crusher?” 

Catherine drops her cigarette and grinds it out under her boot. “We’ll have to wait until we find another pilot with the Crest of Dominic. In the meantime, Galatea and Fraldarius will have to make do.”

Annette’s hands are shaking. She presses her palms against her knees to steady herself. 

Catherine pats her pocket, apparently disappointed to find a dearth of cigarettes, so she sits back and drapes her arms on the back of the bench. 

“Come on, kid.” She pats Annette’s shoulder lightly. “Let’s get home.” 

“Um, Catherine?” Annette asks as Catherine gets up from the bench. “Can you not tell Ingrid about this?”

Catherine stares at Annette for a moment before nodding.

-

Annette stares at the ceiling. 

_ Because I have to.  _

Ingrid’s words echo in her ears, even as Ingrid lays beside her in bed, sound asleep, her body rising and falling softly.

_ Because I can, when no one else can. _

Annette unconsciously opens and closes her fists, gripping the bedcovers.

_ I can do this thing, to protect other people, to make the world safer. I can, so I have to. _

In the back of her mind, she can see the sword, piercing the body that lays buried beneath Garreg Mach, beneath SEIROS. The sword that pierces and the black void that watches. Blood, lapping against shores of bone.

_ Because I can, when no one else can. _

She clenches her hand into a fist.

-

Catherine stands in the darkness, upright in an empty abyss of black. The screen in front of her fizzles as the voice behind it speaks. 

“Yes, Director,” Catherine responds, tilting her head downwards. “The test was a success.”

“Good,” the screen flickers to life. “I trust the Dummy System is ready for deployment.”

“Yes, Director.”

“Good.”

Catherine clears her throat, stepping forward. “Ah, Director Rhea…”

“What is it?”

“It’s about Galatea,” she says nervously, almost sheepishly. “She’s...Her sync rates are-”

“Isn’t that the express purpose of the Dummy System? To replace the need for human pilots?”

“Well, yes, but her synchronization levels are dropping rapidly. I don’t know if it's the shock of working with Aegis Shield again, or her relationship with Pilot Dominic, but her rates are too low for sustained combat.”

The Director says nothing, a thoughtful silence between Catherine’s words.

“From recent estimations, she could pilot for perhaps ten minutes before desync knocks her out of the system.”

“Then be sure to have the dummy code ready for deployment as soon as it happens.”

Catherine bites the inside of her lip. It doesn’t sit right with her, banking on a pilot’s failure like that. “Yes, ma’am,” she says, bowing her head again. Even looking at the Director’s communications screen is difficult. She rests her hand on the cold steel of the pistol in her pocket. 

Something about the way the director says ‘humans’ sets Catherine on edge. 

“I’ve received Pilot Fraldarius’ combat data,” the Director continues. 

“Yes,” Catherine nods, trying to interpret the intent of the sentence. “I know his sync is lower than Glenn’s, but it was only his first-”

“Is the repaired Crest functioning properly?” 

Catherine nods. “Yes, for now.” She looks down. “Engineer Cyril says that it could be responsible for his low synchronization.”

“That will have to do. We need to move forward with the program.”

Catherine swallows. “Forward? So soon after testing?” 

“Sothis has issued her orders.”

“With all due respect, Madam Director, I think we should do more tests before-”

“Are you questioning your orders?”

“No, ma’am,” Catherine bows her head. “Of course not.”

“Sothis will archive the recent combat data and reassess the dummy code.”

“Yes,” Catherine nods. “Thank you, ma’am.” It’s not a lot, but it’s some reassurance. Some safeguard. 

“Commander.”

“Yes, Director?” 

“The First pilot will be arriving soon.”

“The First...”

“The final steps are in motion. There is no room for failure here.” 

“Of course not, m-” Catherine’s voice is cut off by the Director’s comms screen fizzling and shutting off, plunging her into pure blackness. She exhales, tension melting from her body as she relaxes back. 

-

Sunlight streams in from the ceiling of the Relic bay. Shamir sits in the command center, one hand around a mug of coffee, the other tapping the keys of her computer. She pores over code, data, spreadsheets, graphs, performance tracking, vitals. She takes a drink from her mug.

Behind her, the command center door hisses and slides open.

“Good afternoon, ma’am,” Cyril says, stepping through. The door shuts behind him. 

“Mn,” Shamir says, exhausted. 

“Where’s Catherine?”

“Overseeing repairs at the Academy,” Shamir says, picking a smoldering cigarette out of her ashtray. 

“With all due respect, ma’am, why aren’t you there?” 

“Orders,” Shamir says, pushing her glasses up and rubbing her eyes. 

“You look exhausted.”

“I’ve been up all night, wrestling with Sothis.”

“Again?” Cyril sits down next to Shamir, spinning around his desk chair and booting up his own computer. “What’s she up to?”

“She’s locked us out of half of the database,” Shamir says, dropping her glasses back down. She reaches into the pocket of her labcoat and fishes out a metal flash drive. “I’m going to try a hard reboot. We can’t even run diagnostics on the Relics without access to Sothis’ core applications.” 

“Is that smart?” Cyril frowns.

Shamir shrugs and sips her coffee. “Catherine’s not here to tell me otherwise. Besides, I’m the systems engineer here.”

“Alright,” Cyril says, pecking at his keyboard. “I’m logged in if you need support.” 

Shamir nods and slots her drive into the computer tower. 

“Ma’am?”

“Mm,” Shamir says, typing. 

“What exactly... _ is  _ Sothis?” 

Shamir shakes her head. “AI governing software that runs all of the calculations for the Relics’ programming, as well as all of this facility’s internal systems.” She picks up her cigarette. 

“If it’s an AI, maybe it’s locking you out for a reason?”

“I’m not sure,” Shamir says, shaking her head. “Whatever it’s doing is using a massive amount of RAM, and I can’t see what that is without accessing sections of the Sothis core.” She runs her hand through her hair. 

“Is there some way to interface with it?”

“I’m not sure,” Shamir says, typing. “It’s the Director’s system, so I think only she has administrative access. So,” she says, hitting a key, “a hard reboot is the only option I have. Without this, the Relics won’t be ready for the pilots to train.”

Cyril nods. “I’m isolating a backup of all of yesterday’s data now.”

Shamir frowns. “Huh.” 

“What’s wrong?”

She taps her keyboard repeatedly. “Look at this.” She taps her monitor with one finger. “What’s all this?”

Cyril leans forward, squinting. “Huh. It looks like junk code. Why’s there so much of it?”

“I don’t know,” Shamir frowns. “A massive amount of power and RAM is being diverted to this partition, here,” she says, pulling up a window. “Sothis is doing something, and whatever it is, she won’t let me stop it.” 

Cyril and Shamir stare at the screen, watching code scrolling past.

-

Ingrid dresses slowly, pulling her plugsuit up over her bare legs, her slender muscle and the angles of her bones. She’s still surprised, sometimes, when she turns and catches her own reflection in the mirror. 

She straightens her plugsuit’s stiff collar and fluffs out the base of her hair, touseling the short blond tufts. She stands up straight and looks herself in the mirror, taking a breath and building up her nerves to pull on her boots and tighten her gauntlets and step outside, back into the cold steel hallways of SEIROS. 

The Ingrid that looks back at her seems different - tall, lean, her hair framing the masculine angles of her jaw. Her tense, slender frame, with shoulders hunched and hands clenched. She stares at herself, the way she looks back through the mirror. A stranger in her own body.

She swallows. 

The folding screen between halves of the locker room scrapes across the floor. Felix, still in his street clothes, scowls at her. 

“Don’t have your head on straight today, huh?”

“What?” Ingrid asks, brushing her bangs back into place. “What do you mean-”

“That’s  _ my _ locker,” Felix snaps, yanking open the metal door. “You’re wearing my suit.”

“Y-your-” Ingrid stammers and furrows her brow. “What are you talking about?! This is-”

Felix gestures at the open locker - nothing is inside. No photos of the Fraldarius family, no sticky-notes of hastily scribbled reminders. A locker that is spotless, new, empty.

Ingrid stares at her body. “O-oh.” She unhooks the back of her collar and tugs it down. “Sorry.” 

Felix throws his hands up in frustration and turns around. “You’re unbelievable, Ingrid!” He yanks open the locker room door. “The Relics aren’t even operational yet, there’s no reason to get changed anyways.”

Annette barrels into him as she steps into the locker room, knocking both of them back into a tangle on the tile floor.

“Ack!” she yelps, rolling off him and scrambling to her feet. “Oh, Felix, I’m sorry, I-” She looks up at Ingrid, still peeling off the top of her plugsuit, and she frowns. “Wh...what’s happening?” 

There’s a rap of knuckles at the door, and Cyril’s voice.

“Pilots, at attention,” he says. 

Felix and Annette both scramble to their feet, backs straight and eyes forward as Ingrid falls into step, her plugsuit secure and tidy.

Catherine opens the door, her leather jacket slung over one shoulder, a cigarette pinned between two fingers. “At ease, pilots,” she says, scanning them. “Annette.”

Annette swallows. “Yes, ma’am. Reporting for duty.”

Catherine’s lips curl into a smile. 


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Right ok so. It's been uhh (checks notes) half a year whoops 
> 
> Full disclosure: most of this had been almost fully written, but my beta reader and I wanted to hold off to edit the last few chapters but we've decided to just go ahead and post the raw chapters, so... Hope it's good lmao these chapters are from like June

It takes days for the Relics to be repaired, even longer for their weapons to be put back into an operable state. In the meantime, the three pilots resign themselves to other forms of training - guided by Catherine, they spend the time sparring together in their plugsuits, a room lined with padded walls and floor. Space enough for proper hand-to-hand combat training. The SEIROS facility has a firing range, too. Cyril and the other engineers construct weapons with approximate weight-size ratios to mimic the rifles their Relics use, to adjust the three pilots to using their weapons in tandem.

Ingrid and Felix still don’t talk. 

Annette tries her best to bridge the gap between them, but nothing seems to work. Nothing that can take place in the narrow gaps of time between combat training, firearms training, and sitting motionless in the Relic cockpits, letting the engineers run systems reboots and diagnostics on the internal programming.

Annette can hear whispers here and there, between Shamir, Cyril, Catherine, and the other engineers - talk of something called Sothis, some project that demands more time and attention than the Relic repairs. 

Annette doesn’t mind. She’s thankful for time out of the cockpit, after the last abysmal battle, and she’s even more thankful that the city seems quiet. 

She’s humming to herself, walking through the halls towards the locker room, her shooting safety glasses resting on her head, thinking about dinner, when she rounds a corner and sees them.

Felix, in his plugsuit, leaning back against one of the cold metal walls of the SEIROS base, a dour expression on his face. He’s speaking to a man Annette recognizes - Rodrigue, she thinks his name was. A man with dark hair in a button-up shirt and slacks, a jacket tossed over one shoulder. Annette cuts off her humming and ducks back, unwilling to interrupt.

“I’m only in town for a few days, Felix, please-”

“I don’t care,” Felix snaps. “Leave me alone.”

“Felix, I just-”

“Go!” Felix snaps.

Rodrigue sighs and bows his head. “I just...I want you to know that I’m proud of you, son.”

Annette can hear his footsteps coming towards her and she stifles a cough.

“Proud of me?” Felix spits. 

Rodrigue’s footsteps stop. 

“And I suppose you were proud of Glenn, too.”

“Your brother was a hero, Felix-”

“My brother was a fool!” Felix’s voice echoes down the hall, bouncing off the cold, sterile metal. 

“What will you do, then?” Rodrigue’s voice turns sharp. “Go back to Fhirdiad, back to making trouble with that friend of yours-”

“Better than dying here,” Felix snaps.

“The work you do here is a service for your people, Felix. For all people. Do not forget that.”

Felix scoffs. 

Rodrigue sighs. “I will be here in the facility for the next three days, if you want to talk.” 

“I won’t-” Felix stops, frowning. 

Annette clamps a hand over her mouth, but it’s not enough to mute her cough.

“We can discuss this later, Felix,” Rodrigue says, suddenly. 

Annette winces and rounds the corner, trying very hard to look like she wasn’t just eavesdropping. She smiles, feigning ignorance. “Hello, Felix! Are you all done with the program tests?”

“Yes,” Felix says, leaning back against the wall and folding his arms over his chest. “My father-” the word said with palatable contempt - “was just leaving.”

“Oh!” Annette smiles at Rodrigue. “Hello, Mr. Fraldarius!” 

“Call me Rodrigue,” he says, extending his hand out. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Dominic.” 

“Fantine,” Annette smiles, shaking his hand. 

“I must confess, I am an ardent admirer of your father’s work,” Rodrigue says. “The things that he and SEIROS are doing are just-”

“You were leaving, Father,” Felix says, gesturing past Annette. 

“Of course,” Rodrigue smiles politely. He tips his head at Annette. “Again, a pleasure. If you see your father, please give him my regards.”

Annette smiles and nods politely, and she and Felix watch Rodrigue disappear into the dark hallways of the SEIROS facility. 

“So,” Annette says, glancing up at Felix. “Dads, huh.”

He scowls at her. “What are you doing here?”

She picks the shooting safety glasses off her head and shrugs. “I was at the firing range with Cath- er, Commander Charon.” She purses her lips and fidgets with her glasses anxiously. “What about you? I thought you would have gone home by now.”

Felix lets out a huff and trudges down the hall, Annette following suit. 

“I didn’t think your dad worked here-”

“He doesn’t.”

Annette frowns. “You know, I don’t have a great deal of respect for my father, either. It’s not like you’re the only one whose dad has been keeping secrets.”

Felix glances down at Annette, and she can tell for a split second that he’s surprised. “So?”

“So, I…” Annette shrugs. “I get it. I mean...I didn’t want to be a pilot, either. Sometimes I still don’t think I do,” she forces a laugh. 

“It’s not like he’s forcing me to,” Felix says.

“Well, yeah, my dad isn’t either.” Her expression is uncertain. “I mean, he left home when I was a kid, and I never saw him again. Not until I came here.” She takes a cautious step forward, almost reaching out to touch his hand. “So...if you need someone to talk to about this stuff…”

He yanks his hand away, scowling. “Look, just because we work together doesn’t mean you need to try and be my friend.” 

Annette’s brow furrows. “What’s your problem, huh?! You don’t even know me, and you’re ready to hate me!” 

He scoffs. “Please. I know you. You’re just like her. You believe in all this shit.”

“What?” Annette frowns. 

“Oh, come off it. Why else would you be here?”

“I...because…”

Felix’s face changes as realization dawns on him. “Oh…” he says, with an air of confirmation. “I bet you’re here to impress your father, aren’t you?” He purses his lips. “You let them pull the wool over your eyes, just so your daddy will give you the time of day, huh?”

Annette stares at him, her chest sinking. “I...no, I…”

“The alternative is that you’re just an idiot like Ingrid.”

“You’re mean, Felix,” Annette frowns. “And...you’re wrong. She and I are...different.” She sighs and rubs her eyes. “I...I mean, I thought I knew, but...I don’t know if I even trust them anymore. Even Catherine is…”

“Oh, so you do understand,” Felix says, folding his arms over his chest. “I’m not wrong, am I? That your father only cares about you if you pilot a Relic?”

“I don’t...” Annette’s voice is soft, uncertain. “I…”

Her soft protest is interrupted by the sound of boots against metal, a siren heralding the arrival of the third pilot.

“Hey, guys,” Ingrid says, glancing between them. “Is something happening? You both look pretty tense.”

“It’s nothing,” Annette says, forcing a smile. “How’d training go?” 

“Fine,” Ingrid replies, gently touching the small of Annette’s back. “Hey, did you want to get dinner or something after we get changed?”

“Yeah, that sounds - oh, Felix, where are you going?” Annette calls after him. 

  
  


-

Clouds roll over the city.

It’s not raining, not yet, but it’s grey and windy and cold, and for once Annette is thankful for the protective shell wrapped around her. She eases back into the pilot’s chair, taking a deep breath. 

“Three minutes to contact,” Cyril reports over the comms.

“Remember not to push it,” Shamir reminds them. “The Relics are just out of the shop, so don’t-”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Catherine says, cutting her off. “We can’t have a disaster like last time.”

Annette guides Crusher over a rocky ridge, crushing trees and kicking up dirt as she goes. In front of her, Ingrid and Felix circle around into formation. Ingrid takes point, Felix hangs back, Annette follows up. Abraxas is resting in its holster on Crusher’s back. 

“Two-thirty,” Cyril reports again. “Get into position.”

The city had cordoned off and evacuated an area designated as the anti-Beast combat zone. The old industrial sector of Garreg Mach, usually buzzing with energy from power plants and telephone wires, is quiet and empty. Wind howls down the corridors, past abandoned cars and empty buildings.

“Where’s it coming from?” Ingrid asks. 

“The south,” Catherine responds. “You need to keep it contained. Do you understand?” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Felix says. 

“Fraldarius,” Shamir says. “Set up on the southern edge of the factory, in the trainyard.” 

Aegis Shield navigates between empty buildings, making its way to a factory at the edge of the district, bounded on three sides by a twisting network of train tracks. 

Annette leans forward in her seat, peering down - it’s the power plant, the same they had fought at in one of her first battles. A strange sort of nostalgia settles over her as she watches Felix hunker down, wedging Aegis Shield between two buildings before planting his shield in the dirt. 

She unlatches her rifle from its holster restraints and stands behind Aegis, resting the barrel on the edge of its shield. The thermal scope flickers to life, flashing colors into Annette’s viewscreens. 

“Thirty seconds,” Cyril says. “You should be able to see it by now, Annette.”

“I’m looking, I’m looking.” Annette sweeps her rifle over the edge of the city, watching the treeline. Sunlight glints off her barrel as the clouds around them let up. She frowns and leans forwards. “I see movement.”

“Where?” Ingrid asks, slowly drawing her lance. 

“I don’t know, I just saw it for a m-”

Before Annette can finish her sentence, a black Demonic Beast leaps at Lúin from the side and slashes its black claws across its torso. Ingrid cries out in pain as Lúin stumbles back, trying to plant her lance into the dirt to steady herself. 

“Holy shit, it’s fast,” Cyril mutters. “Annette, I’m turning off your thermals. It’s not going to be of any use.”

“Are you sure?” Annette asks, nervously watching her display return to normal. 

Ingrid grimaces and presses one of Lúin’s hands against its stomach. “Cockpit integrity down,” she reports. 

“Fraldarius, you need to protect them,” Catherine orders.

“From what?” Felix shouts. At the same moment, the Beast leaps again, crashing against his shield, thrashing and tearing.

Annette gasps.

It’s a Demonic Beast, but not like the kinds they’ve faces before - where the other ones are soft and leathery, this one is covered in hard black scales, with bony spines protruding from its back, its forehead. It has no mask, no helmet - just holes in the scales, darkness with piercing red inside. 

It lowers its head and smashes into Felix’s shield. His yellow barrier flickers and shatters as the Beast’s horn punctures his shield, lodging it into him.

“Fuck!” he yells, drawing his sword.

Ingrid leaps back and thrusts her lance into the Beast’s spine - or she would, if the blade didn’t glance harmlessly off the golden flash of its barrier. The force of the blow is enough to  sendsent Lúin sprawling back. She takes a knee to slow her momentum and drops her lance to the ground, drawing Fimbulvetr instead. “Felix, hold on!” 

Felix grunts, thrusting his sword through the fresh hole punched through his shield, poking at the snapping maw of the Beast. “Not many other options.”

Ingrid braces her rifle as she pulls the trigger, pulsing a blast of energy out that splashes ice against the Beast, coating its barrier with splintering cracks. It pulls back, howling, and Ingrid can see the ridges of hard spines along its back.

The Beast’s golden barrier field shimmers and crackles, blasting energy back at Ingrid’s rifle and bucking it with almost enough for to propel it from her hands.

“What the-?” Ingrid mutters, pulling the trigger. “It fried my gun!”

“We’re trying to get systems back online,” Cyril says, and the sound of hasty keyboard strokes can be heard over the radio. “It looks like it fired back an electromagnetic pulse that short-circuited your rifle.” 

Felix bashes his shield into the Beast, sending it sprawling backwards, giving him enough space to draw his sword and hold it out.

Annette holds her breath and raises her gun.

“Try not to shoot it!” Catherine shouts. “If its barrier is up, it’ll overload Abraxas, probably with enough power to burst its energy cells!”

“Which means?” Annette asks, lowering it. 

“It’ll explode in your hands,” Shamir says.

Annette doesn’t have a chance to drop her gun before it’s smashed out of her hands as the black Beast lunges at her, knocking her down and pinning Crusher to the ground. She shouts out in distress as the Beast throws its head back and smashes itself into her chest, gnawing at Crusher’s chestplate. Its sharp teeth pierce the Relic’s flesh and crask its armor, spilling thick red blood out onto its face. 

Annette grimaces and tries to crawl out from under it as her viewscreens flash and flicker. 

Felix sprints to her side, kneeing the side of the Beast and following up with a downwards slash. His sword hits the Beast’s barrier with a spray of sparks, cracking it.

“I’m coming!” Ingrid shouts, shifting Lúin forward into a dash. She sprints towards the pile of twisting limbs and spraying blood, dropping into a slide past Aegis Shield and swiping her lance as she goes, scraping it along the Beast’s barrier. The glowing blade cracks the energy barrier as she slides, and Felix follows up with a thrust of his sword.

The Beast howls and skitters back, climbing off Crusher and scampering away, leaving a trail of bloody claw-prints. 

“F-follow it!” Annette shouts, reaching up to wipe her tangled bangs out of her face. Her stomach burns and her head spins. She glances at her digital display and tries to ignore the flashing warnings.

Ingrid breaks into a sprint, pursuing the Beast across the trainyard and back towards the city. 

Clouds shift and roil over the city, glowing yellow with impending sunlight. Wind ripples the powerlines and blows trash across the street. 

Lúin leaps over a building, cutting off the Beast and smashing its feet into its head. It howls and crashes through a building in a spray of glass and concrete. Ingrid shouts as she follows up with a lance strike, driving the blade towards the Beast’s exposed stomach. Her lance shatters its barrier in a cascade of golden shards. 

“It’s barrier is down! Annette, get in there!” Catherine shouts.

Aegis Shield catches up to Lúin, reaching out and snagging its hand to pull her away just as the Beast whirls around, turning into a blur of spines and scales. It launches out from its spin and crashes into Lúin, pinning it to the ground.

Ingrid clenches her teeth and smashes Lúin’s head into the Beast. It remains staggered for a moment, confused by the blow before tilting its head down and smashing its head into Lúin. Its sharp, bony horn pierces Lúin’s chestplate and sprays blood across the Beast’s head.

Ingrid screams, trying to scramble backwards as Felix hacks at the Beast, trying to free Lúin from its grip. 

Annette, breathing hard, slides to a stop at the end of the street and lifts her rifle. “I’m g-going to shoot it, Felix, move!”

Felix glances up at her before leaping away. 

Ingrid, seeing her chance, punches out with all her might, knocking the Beast up into prime position for Annette’s beam to hit it.

She pulls the trigger. The energy blast scrapes past the Beast, shattering some of its spines and vaporizing the building behind it. “Fuck!” she shouts.

The Beast drops down and claws at Lúin’s chest, spraying blood and chunks of armor into the street. It burrows into the exposed cavity, tearing at wires and flesh.

“C-Catherine, what do we do?!” Annette stammers.

-

“Her vitals are down, ma’am,” Cyril reports, spinning his chair around. “She can’t take this much longer.” 

Shamir grimaces and looks at Catherine.

“We’re engaging the dummy pilot,” Catherine says.

“What?!” Shamir and Cyril shout in unison. 

“Her sync rate is too low to fight effectively,” Catherine says, pointing at Shamir’s screen. “She’s nothing but bait as is.” She tugs a flash drive from a string around her neck and kneels to slot it into the computer. 

“Are you kidding me?” Shamir scowls. 

“We can’t risk the Beast getting any closer to the city.” Catherine says, clicking the drive into place. 

Cyril and Shamir glance at each other nervously. 

-

The Beast, leaving a trail of blood, wires and armor fragments, continues its dogged sprint towards the heart of Garreg Mach. It smashes through the cordoned-off zone, scraping jagged cracks across the concrete as it does. 

“Ingrid, do you read me?” Annette asks, tightening her grip on her control sticks. 

“Y-yeah,” Ingrid mutters. 

“What’s your status?”

“Hull integrity...ah…” Ingrid coughs, her words punctuated with sharp inhales, “forty-three percent.” She pushes Lúin to its unsteady feet, wobbling and dripping blood. Crusher crouches next to it, offering support.

“Annette, you need to come with me,” Felix snaps, Aegis Shield whirring to life. “We can’t let it get away!”

“But Ingrid-”

“I’m o-okay,” Ingrid grimaces. She takes a step, and then another one. 

“Ingrid, your vitals are dropping,” Cyril reports. “We’re switching you to the dummy system.”

“No!” Annette protests. “We can’t let her comms be cut off!”

“We don’t have any choice, Annette,” Catherine says.

“And we don’t have time to argue!” Felix shouts hoarsely. Aegis Shield bounds over a low glass building, following the trail of destruction left in the black Beast’s wake. He keeps his sword low and the blade passes through the edge of a building as he rounds a corner. 

“Ingrid,” Annette says, gently resting Crusher’s arm behind Lúin, pushing it up to full height. “Can you stand?”

“Y-yeah,” Ingrid says.

-

Inside her cockpit, Ingrid spits blood. It’s darker than the cockpit liquid, a cloud of murky scarlet around her. Her lungs burn and her chest aches. Something snapped when the Beast had pinned her down. 

Her hands are shaking.

“C-Commander,” she says softly. 

“I’m here, Ingrid.”

“Her vitals are still dropping,” Cyril reports. “She’s losing blood. We can’t switch to the dummy system without risking her bleeding out.”

Ingrid swallows. Her mouth is coppery and numb. Her vision spots if she turns her head too quickly. 

She tries to breath steadily and evenly, her chest rising and falling, sparking pain each time it does. 

“Pulse is too low,” Cyril says again. “Her sync rate has bottomed out. Lúin is dead in the water.”

“It’s your call, Ingrid,” Catherine says.

“D-do it.”

-

Annette and Felix grapple with the Demonic Beast, full-body slamming it against a building as it writhes and howls. Blood streams from cracks in its hard, scaly armor, splattering the sides of buildings and pouring over stoplights. 

Crusher holds the Beast back while Felix slashes his sword across its stomach. It sparks against it, splashing golden shards as it cracks the Beast’s barrier.

“It has a second barrier?!” Annette shouts.

Felix growls and thrusts his sword. The point is stopped by the barrier, which pulses with golden light. His voice rises in crescendo as he pushes harder, harder - and the point of the blade slips through, shattering the barrier like glass and spraying blood onto Aegis Shield’s chassis.

The Beast howls and lashes its legs out, kicking the sword from Aegis’ hands and sending it clattering down the street, smashing through street signs and parked cars. The Beast bows its head and slams into Aegis, cracking the metal ribs protruding from its repaired side. 

Felix cries out as his Relic topples backwards and collapses.

“Oh, no you don’t!” Annette shouts, reaching out with both hands and grasping the Beast’s tail, dragging it away before it can burrow into Aegis’ chestplate. She holds the tail with one hand and draws her weapon, smashing the hammer against the Beast’s hard, black scales. They crack and splinter with each blow, but the beast refuses to go down.

“Fuck!” Felix shouts, lashing out one of his Relic’s legs and kicking the Beast’s head. It howls and claws out at him, ripping hunks of flesh and armor from Aegis in a spray of blood. 

The Beast spins around, smashing its spines into Crusher.

Annette cries out and tries to pull back as blood trickles from her Relic’s cockpit.

“Cockpit integrity down!” Cyril shouts. “Sixty-four percent!” 

Annette takes a deep breath and blinks back tears. The Beast takes advantage of her moment of pause and leaps at her, snarling and gnashing. Its teeth clamp onto Crusher’s arm and Annette screams, pain rippling up her arm. 

Felix hauls himself to his feet and picks up Aegis’ damaged kite shield. He throws himself at the Beast, smashing the shield against it and flattening it against the side of an office building. Concrete and glass and metal debris showers down on both of them. 

Annette pulls back in her pilot’s seat and presses one hand against her shoulder. No blood, of course there wouldn’t be blood, but the pain is real. She grunts with pain and bites back a sob. “F-Felix!” she shouts.

Before she can finish her warning, a shadow appears over Crusher, darkening Annette’s viewscreens. Lúin leaps over her Relic in a full bound, lance held forward, and it plunges the glowing blade into the back of the Beast’s spine.

“INGRID!” Annette shouts, her hoarse voice unable to contain her relief. She slumps back in her seat, exhausted.

Lúin rips its lance from the Beast’s body, splashing itself with blood before reaching its arm out and plunging it into the Beast, grasping it and yanking it out of the cratered building in which it had pinned Aegis Shield. 

“Ingrid…” Annette breathes.

Lúin tosses its lance aside and thrusts its other hand into the hole in the Beast’s scales, tearing at the armor and leathery skin and the meat beneath. 

“What the…?” Felix stares at it, Aegis Shield unmoving.

Lúin rakes the Beast with its claws, pulling off chunks of scales and spines while the Beast howls and writhes. It lashes out, clawing at Lúin, ripping its armor open and exposing red, bleeding insides. 

“Ingrid!” Annette shouts, moving Crusher to pick up its hammer. “Ingrid, respond!”

The Beast screams, the sound ear-piercing and glass-shattering, and it digs into Lúin with all its might. It cracks through metal restraints and leather cording and armor plating, smashing apart the outer shell of the Relic. 

Lúin responds in kind, lithe and blood-slick and organic in the absence of its bone-hard armor. It plunges its claws into the Beast and tears, giving itself enough of an opening to bow its head down. Jaws free of metal restraints, the Relic’s mouth opens, revealing teeth in a split moment before digging into the Beast, pulling flesh and guts out of it in a spray of blood and gore.

Annette and Felix watch, silent, horrified. 

“C-Commander…” Annette breathes.

No one responds. Lúin is crouched over the Beast, a vulture, a carrion wolf, tearing at the exposed meat beneath its cracked armor, spilling blood down its own chest, into the street, dark red rolling in streams into the gutters. Wings splay from its back, draping down to the ground around it.

Annette swallows. “Is...Is Ingrid in there?” 

No one responds.

“Ingrid?” Crusher hums to life as Annette steps closer to the Relic. “Ingrid, can you hear me?” She touches her radio with shaking hands. “C-Commander, is Ingrid-”

Catherine’s voice crackles with static. “She’s there.”

“What the hell?” Felix snaps. “What the hell _ are _ these things?!” 

“Hold position,” Catherine says sternly. 

“Like hell I’m going to hold position!” Felix shouts. “Get me out of here!” 

“Shut up, Felix!” Catherine snaps. Her voice lowers. “What’s Galatea’s status?”

“We lost her vitals,” Cyril reports.

“We can’t engage the eject sequence without destroying the Relic completely,” Shamir says. “We’ve never tested it under these conditions.”

“Of course we haven’t.”

“She’s still in there…” Annette breathes out, exhaling bubbles. Her eyes are locked on the Relic, still knelt over the Beast, still  _ devouring  _ it. Crusher shifts to motion, slowly, and then it moves faster. 

Crusher grasps Lúin’s shoulder and pulls it back, yanking it off the writhing beast with a spray of blood and torn scales. Red splatters its fleshy wings. 

Lúin lashes out, its claws digging into the cracks in Crusher’s armor. Annette screams and smashes her arm into Lúin, pushing it back.

“Annette, stand down!” Catherine orders. 

“She’s still-” Annette shouts, lunging Crusher forwards and trying to grapple with Lúin, “-she’s still in there! She’s hurt!” 

“Annette!” 

Annette scowls and reaches up, pulling the switch to power down her comms. In that split second, Lúin dives into Crusher, its teeth sinking into Crusher’s shoulder. Annette cries out in pain, trying to pull away. Crusher’s shoulder breaks free in a splash of cracked armor and dripping red. 

Annette smashes Crusher’s head into the raging Lúin. The Relic’s jaws grind and gnash, teeth and flesh tearing at the air, trying to grasp onto Crusher. Annette’s stomach roils and churns as she watches the Relic move of its own volition. Wide eyes swivel in its head. Free of its restraints, it’s a wild beast, a hurricane of blood and fangs and claws. 

But it doesn’t have weapons.

Annette grits her teeth and picks up Abraxas. She holds the rifle forward. 

Aegis Shield slams its shoulder into Crusher, knocking Abraxas out of her hands. Annette switches her private comms on. “Felix, what the hell?!”

“What are you doing?” Felix shouts. 

Lúin swipes one foot out, crumpling Aegis Shield to a heap of armor on the ground. 

Annette slams forward on the control sticks. Crusher leaps forward and wraps its arms around Lúin, crashing through the facade of an office building and showering both of them with glass and debris. Crusher wraps a fist around Luin’s slender, leathery neck.

“I’m sorry, Ingrid,” Annette exhales, shoving her arm forward. Crusher slams Lúin through the building, showering debris and concrete onto the writhing Relic. Crusher leaps back, grabbing Abraxas and swinging the barrel up.

Annette pulses a shot without thinking, a blast of energy glancing off the top of the building. There’s a flash of light and a burst of energy, and concrete and twisting metal rains down on Lúin. The Relic’s mouth gnashes, screaming. 

“Annette-” Felix scrambles Aegis Shield to its feet. 

Annette shakes her head and shifts Crusher to kneel by the pile of debris encasing the berserk Relic. She powers her Relic’s systems down and disengages from the pilot chair, yanking wires out as she climbs towards the exit hatch. 

Her arms are bleeding and her whole body is soaked in thick red liquid as she scales down the outside of Crusher’s motionless frame. She slips, her arms too slick to keep ahold of the outside grips, and she tumbles to a heap at the foot of the rubble pile. 

She pushes herself up and wipes her tangled, soaking bangs out of her face. She’s bleeding from her arms, and now somewhere from her face, too, she suspects, and she leaves a trail of thick red as she climbs up the mountain of twisted metal I-beams and cracked concrete slabs. 

Lúin is motionless, its head half-buried in concrete, its eye twitching, wide and watching as Annette scales towards it. She scrambles over twisted and broken fingers protruding from the wreckage, past Lúin’s hands and towards its torso, bloodied and dirty. She scrambles around and kneels in the debris to shovel out concrete and rubble by hand.

“Ingrid!” she shouts, tossing chunks of rock to the side. The refuse tears at her plugsuit, ripping her gloves open and cutting into the soft skin of her hands, but she digs until she sees the metal of the cockpit hatch.

She grimaces and wraps both hands around the hatch handle, the metal sizzling and burning her bare palms as she grasps it. She cries out and yanks with all her might.

The cockpit fluid pours out, splashing over her and pouring in waterfalls down the mountain of rubble, towards Crusher’s still frame. 

Ingrid is sitting in Lúin’s cockpit, hunched over, motionless. She’s still wired to the Crest, dark red lines spilling from the cockpit armrests into the various terminals around her. 

Her hair is tangled and matted, a copper crown around her lolling head. 

“Ingrid!” Annette cries again. She clambers into the cockpit, hands burning and pained as she tries to pry Ingrid’s motionless body from her seat. She pats Ingrid’s arms, looking for - aha! The release. Ingrid slumps back as her gauntlets are released from the armrests. She moans softly as her head thumps against the back of her seat. 

“Hey,” Annette says, trying to support her. “Hey, I’m here. It’s okay.”

Ingrid moans again, blood running from her lips as she tries to open her mouth.

“It’s okay,” Annette says, holding her. “Don’t try to speak. Let me get you out of here.”

Ingrid groans again, weakly protesting as Annette hauls her out of the seat and drags her towards the hatch. The two pilots spill out of the hatch into a pile of tangled limbs in the rubble.

Ingrid hits the concrete with a dull thud. 

“Shit,” Annette mutters, blinking back tears. She wipes her hair out of her face again, smearing blood and grease across her cheeks. “Hey, hey. I’m here.” She slides her arms under Ingrid’s body and grunts as she supports her back. “Hey.”

Ingrid’s lips move slightly, parting just enough for a trickle of blood to drip from the corner of her mouth. She forces a smile and opens her eyes weakly, slowly.

“Hey-” she manages to hoarsely say. She lurches forward, coughing hard. 

Annette holds her tight, pressing their foreheads together. She blinks back tears and sniffles. “H-hey. It';s okay. It’s okay. You’re safe.”

“I’m…” Ingrid blinks at her. “Where…?”

“Don’t try to speak,” Annette says, sniffling. “It’s okay.” 

Ingrid nestles against her, wrapping her arms around her weakly, pressing her cheek to Annette’s. 

Annette holds her gently, as if she’s afraid she’ll break. Relief and fear flood through her in equal measure and she’s unable to stop herself from crying. She holds Ingrid and sobs, gasping for breath, trying to keep ahold of herself even as she watches Ingrid’s blood pooling underneath her, her body spattered with blood and caked in concrete dust. 

Ingrid gently touches Annette’s face with a shaking hand, her finger smearing blood across her cheek as she tips her face down. 

Annette’s soft gasp is muted by the press of Ingrid’s lips. 

She tastes like copper and dust. Her lips are chapped and bleeding. And Annette melts into her, the two of them entwined in the rubble, their lips pressed together until Annette’s eyes close and consciousness slips away from her. 


	14. Chapter 14

It’s another sunny day. 

Light glints off the shimmering silver of buildings, blue glass reflecting the clear sky, wisps of clouds casting shadows over the tall, angular shapes of office buildings and apartment complexes. Annette stares out the train window, her stomach turning. 

Periodically the train will rattle and round a bend, and she can see the epicenter - buildings smashed to bits, workers in hazmat suits scrubbing blood from walls, spraying down the asphalt, reddish foam bubbling and churning as it flows in rivers into the gutters. 

Lúin is still half-buried in rubble, half-embedded in the ruins of an office building, now marked off with blocks of barricades, armed soldiers, metal scaffolding hastily erected around it as uniformed SEIROS workers try to excavate it from its tomb of debris. 

SEIROS workers made people uneasy. SEIROS guards made people uneasy. There had been unrest, here and there - protests against the private army increasingly visible in the streets of Garreg Mach. And now, SEIROS was a name indelibly linked to carnage. 

The train shakes and changes tracks, giving Annette enough time to stare at Lúin, its angular face jutting up from smashed concrete and I-beams. 

Someone had wrapped the head in thick bands of canvas, bandages to cover the exposed flesh, the exposed meat. Bandages that soak up the thick red fluid. Annette isn’t sure if it's from the cockpit or the Relic’s body, but it doesn’t matter. 

_ What are the Relics? _

Annette can still smell cockpit fluid, grease, burning flesh. No matter how long she scrubs herself in the bath, no matter how much she douses herself with perfume, it won’t go away. It’s embedded into her nostrils, under her fingernails. 

Her tape player clicks off.

The hospital obscures the ruined mess that has been made of downtown. It has been a bustle of activity in the intervening days - civilians, security staff. Always sirens as ambulances ferried the wounded from the battle site. 

A bundle of flowers rests on Annette’s lap.

Shadows shift and lay over her as the train screeches to a halt at the hospital station. Annette sighs and stands up, slipping her tape player into her pocket. 

The hospital is less busy but Annette is made uneasy by the armed guards positioned at the front entrance. They glance as her as she passes, and she forces a smile. Black SEIROS patches are velcroed to their arms. 

There had been more SEIROS security recently. Not just here, but everywhere, ever since the city had given the authority to SEIROS to protect the battle epicenter. All the rifles make Annette nervous. She holds her bouquet of flowers to her chest with one arm and fumbles in her bag, looking for her wallet. 

The elevator is empty. It hums quietly and her stomach turns as she ascends. 

She hadn’t spoken to Ingrid since the battle. She hadn’t seen her, either - Ingrid had been confined to the hospital, and even now Annette’s not technically allowed to be visiting her, but Catherine isn’t there to stop her. 

She steps out of the elevator and approaches the locked steel doors to the SEIROS wing. She swipes her card through the slot and the light turns red. She frowns and swipes it again. 

The light remains unchanged. 

She sighs and flips her card over, trying the other side. She can never remember which side the magnetic stripe is on. 

Red light. 

That’s okay, there should be a security guard around to let her in. Goodness knows there’s enough of them wandering around the hospital. She leaves the bank of elevators and follows the hallway, looking for a security desk. To one side, windows look out on the city, the blue sky, the endless sea of glass and concrete. She keeps her eyes forward, trying not to look down, to see if Lúin is visible from this angle. 

“Excuse me!” she calls out to a black-clad security guard. 

He turns and looks at her. 

“Hi,” Annette smiles politely, pulling out her card. “Can you help me? I’m trying to visit my friend in the SEIROS wing, and for some reason my ID card isn’t working.

The guard frowns at her. 

Annette fishes the card out of her wallet and holds it out, smiling expectantly, sheepishly. “Sorry,” she says quietly. “I’m not sure why it’s not working.”

The guard takes her card and looks at it. “Who are you visiting?”

“Ah, Pilot Galatea,” Annette says formally. She holds out her flowers. “I just wanted to say hi. I know she’s resting.” 

The guard frowns again and nods, taking her card and standing up straight. “Just a moment, please.”

“Of course!” Annette says. “Take your time.” 

The guard tips his head down and murmurs something into a communicator strapped to his shoulder. There’s a crackle and a response. 

“Someone will be here shortly,” he says. 

“Um, can I…” have my card back?” Annette smiles nervously. She can’t help but let her gaze drift, to where the man’s hand rests - not on his hip, as he had thought, but on the holster of a sleek black pistol. 

“I’m sorry, you’ll need to turn in a non-operational card.”

“Will I...get a replacement?” Annette frowns, her politeness and patience wearing thin. 

A voice breaks the tension between her and the security guard, a sharp bark from down the hallway behind her.

“Annette Fantine Dominic,” the voice calls out. “I thought you might try to come here.”

Annette turns, surprised to hear Catherine’s voice. She is even more surprised to see Catherine in the same black SEIROS gear, flanked on both sides by armed guards with rifles. She must have been working security detail around the battle site or something. “Oh, hello Cath-”

Catherine sighs and pulls something out from the back of her belt, unhooking it. “You’re under arrest.”

“What?!” Annette shouts, realizing now that Catherine’s readying a pair of handcuffs. “What do you mean?!”

“Ordinarily, this is where I would say ‘you have the right to remain silent’,” Catherine says, unclasping one of the cuffs. “But unfortunately, SEIROS will be affording you no such rights.”

“What?” Annette stumbles backwards and the guard she had been speaking to grabs her roughly, pinning her arms and spinning her around. “Arrested?” she can feel panic bubbling in her throat. “Just for trying to visit Ingrid?” 

“No,” Catherine says, grasping Annette’s arm and pulling it back, slapping one cuff around her wrist. “You’re being charged with insubordination, destruction of SEIROS property, theft, use of a Relic to your own ends, and endangering the lives of civilians and SEIROS staff. You will be court-martialed and subjected to a tribunal to sentence you.”

“What?!” Annette shouts again, squirming and trying to pull her other arm free. “What do you-”

“Annette, please,” Catherine says, her voice more sad than angry. “Please don’t fight.” 

Annette yanks her arm free and spins around, slipping from Catherine’s grasp. She can’t get three feet before she’s stopped by the click of rifles. She looks up, swallowing. 

The guards at Catherine’s side have their guns raised.

“Catherine, I don’t-” Annette blinks back tears, panic fully seeping into her. She can’t stop herself. “Catherine, I-”

“Please, Annette,” Catherine says softly, her tone somewhat offset by her hand resting on the pistol at her side. 

Annette clenches her teeth, trying to focus her fear into anger. “Did my father order this?” 

Catherine sighs as she finishes handcuffing Annette. “You’re not entitled to that information.”

“He did, didn’t he!” Annette writhes again, furious. 

“Quiet!” one of the guards barks. 

Annette slumps over, dead weight as one of the guards yanks her back, dragging her towards the elevators. “Catherine...C-Catherine, please!” 

It’s useless to fight back against the fully grown man pulling her along, and she has no choice but to stare at Catherine, her hand on her gun, her gaze distant and sad. At her feet, a bundle of discarded flowers, their petals ripped up and scattered around the hallway from the flurry of action.

“Please…” Annette begs, blinking tears. “At least g-give the flowers to Ingrid!” 

Catherine looks sadly from the flowers to Annette being dragged off, squirming and shouting, until the elevator doors slide shut and her voice is gone. Catherine sighs and kneels, gathering up the bouquet of flowers, sweeping the stray petals into a pile. 

The hallway is empty and quiet now, all of the guards charged with taking their prisoner away. Catherine exhales as she rests her hand, letting it slip from her pistol’s holster. The flowers are sad and trampled, and she tries to straighten some of the petals as she walks back towards the SEIROS wing. 

Her card works without issue, flipping the little red light to green and opening the door with a hiss of air. She steps through and slips her card back into her pocket. 

Ingrid is asleep in her hospital bed. Unsurprising, given her state.

She’s a mess, an IV running from one arm, the other wrapped in bandages from the tips of her fingers to the hem of her hospital gown sleeve. She had needed a blood transfusion, when she had first arrived. Of all things that could have killed her, it was almost blood loss - Catherine knew it was a risk since they had begun testing the dummy program, but seeing it in action still made her heart ache and her chest constrict. 

Even now, Ingrid is pale and gaunt, one eye ringed with bruised skin and the other wrapped in gauze and adhesive tape, a makeshift headband wrapped around her short hair. 

Catherine sighs and drags a chair from the corner of the room to Ingrid’s side. 

She sits with the flowers on her legs, her head in her hands. 

The room is silent save the soft beeping of Ingrid’s electrocardiogram. Her heartbeat is weak but steady. 

Catherine closes her eyes and breathes in, out, trying to empty her head of everything but her immediate surroundings - the hard chair beneath her, her stiff uniform, the scent of antiseptic and chemicals, the warmth of the sun as it streams through the open window. The rhythmic beeping of Ingrid’s pulse. 

“C...Cath…?” 

Catherine bolts upright, blinking. “Ingrid?”

Ingrid’s eye cracks open slowly. Her voice is hoarse and faint. It would be inaudible if the room were any less silent. 

“Wh...Where’s...Anne…” Ingrid coughs weakly and her eye closes again, and Catherine is afraid for a moment it won’t reopen. “Is...is she okay…” Ingrid manages to rasp.

“She’s okay,” Catherine nods, sitting up straighter. “She’s...still resting. She wanted you to have these.” She holds out the crumpled flowers.

Ingrid’s lips curl into a weak smile. “That’s...just like her, huh…”

“Yeah,” Catherine forces a smile, too. “Yeah, it is.”

They sit in silence for a while, Ingrid occasionally shifting, Catherine a statue at her side. 

“Is there anything you need?” Catherine asks, her voice soft with concern. 

“T-tell Annette I’m s-sorry,” Ingrid replies.

“Sorry?”

“I s-should have been stronger…”

Catherine squeezes her eyes shut, and she’s thankful Ingrid’s eye is closed, too. Catherine’s breath is shaky. “You did good, kid,” she says. She rests a hand on Ingrid’s unbandaged arm, just below the IV tubing. Her skin is cold. “You’re okay?”

“Yeah,” Ingrid nods, opening her eye again. “Hurts like hell though.”

She laughs, and Catherine forces a hollow laugh as well. “Better than being dead.”

“That’s for sure.” Ingrid sits up and blinks, finally finding the strength to speak. “Annette’s okay, though?” 

“Yeah,” Catherine pats her arm again. 

Ingrid’s neck cracks, stiffness and soreness working out of it as she glances around the room. The TV is set to the news - aerial footage from a helicopter, smashed buildings, police tape, sirens. Glimpses of a huge silhouette, sunken into the collapsed rubble. Ingrid frowns and reaches her good arm out, patting the bedside table for a remote. “Catherine, is that...is that Lúin? What happened?” 

Catherine is quiet as she stares at the television. The news station is playing a reel of footage from the battle - cellphone camera views of Lúin, light and energy and debris. Chaos. Wings, protruding from Lúin’s spiny back.

“C...Catherine…? What...what happened to me?”

“I’m going to let you rest, okay?” 

Ingrid says nothing as she slumps back against the bed and closes her eye.

-

Annette stares at her hands, still manacled. She hadn’t been allowed to change, but her things had been taken from her, so she sits in an empty room somewhere in the bowels of the SEIROS facility. She hadn’t even realized that there  _ were _ cells, but it makes sense. With each passing day, it becomes more and more apparent that SEIROS is not what she had once thought.

She taps her foot against the floor, humming softly. 

There’s nothing else to do in the darkness. Just dull metal walls and dim light from bulbs too far above her to reach, and a locked door without so much as a window to look out of. She sits on a cot and sings to herself.

Perhaps this is what she deserved, after all that. Perhaps she wasn’t cut out for SEIROS, wasn’t cut out to be a good little soldier girl. Not like Ingrid, not like...not like Glenn. Not even like Felix - he harbors anger, true, but he does as he’s told, even if he’s angry about it. 

Annette taps her hands together. 

Her father must have ordered her arrest. He or the Director, but Annette has begun to suspect that the Director is often a scapegoat for her father’s decisions. 

There’s nothing else to do but sit and simmer in her anger. 

It’s impossible to know how much time has passed, other than the growing ache in her stomach and the increasing weariness of her body. She tries dozing on and off but can’t get comfortable with her hands in cuffs, so she opts for slumping against the wall and resting as best she can. 

After an indeterminable amount of time, the door slides open.

Annette has moved again, to sit on her cot and tap her handcuffs together, a simple metal percussion to match her song. She clams up as soon as the door hisses open.

“Come on,” a SEIROS guard says, grasping her arm and hauling her to her feet. 

More hallways, more metal. Annette’s stomach grumbles from lack of food, her eyes are strained from lack of light. 

“Where are we going?” she asks, trying to keep her feet straight as she marches behind the guard. He doesn’t respond. 

It’s impossible to know where they are in the facility, between the samey metal hallways and the winding, labyrinthine layout, but Annette begins to recognize doors, features of hallways, places she has been before. 

By the time she’s pushed through the pneumatic door, she’s boiling with anger. 

Gilbert sits at his desk, fingers steepled. 

The guard leaves them, leaving Annette standing before her father, handcuffed, head bowed, silent. She won’t speak first. He doesn’t deserve her initiating contact.

“Annette.”

“You ordered this,” she says, staring at the floor.

“I had no choice. We can’t take chances, especially not this close to the project’s completion. You put the whole operation in jeopardy. Do you understand, Annette?”

“She was going to die!” 

“She was prepared for that outcome.”

“No!” Annette shouts, clenching her hands into fists, her cuffs rattling. “She was prepared because you lied to her! All of you lied to her and forced her to think that dying is her duty!”

“She chose to become a pilot,” Gilbert says, narrowing his eyes. “No one forced her to do this. No one forced you to do this, either.”

Annette’s jaw tightens. 

“You chose to pilot, every time you sat down in that cockpit. You are a member of this organization, and you have no right to put your own desires above the order and-”

“A member of this organization?!” Annette’s voice is sharp and high. “What about your daughter, Father? Am I that, or do you not even remember?”

“You were brought here to do a job,” Gilbert says. “If you are unable to do that job, then you have no reason to be here.” 

Annette breathes heavily, anger pouring through her. “What about me, Father?” she lifts her eyes to glare at him. “What if it were me in that Relic? Would you have let me die?”

Gilbert is silent.

Annette stumbles forwards, seething. “Do you hesitate, Father? Can you not even be honest with me now?” 

“Yes.”

“You would have let me die.”

“I do as I am commanded by the Director.”

Annette scoffs. “The Director sure is a convenient excuse. Did she command Ingrid’s Relic be...be turned into that thing, too?!”

“That information is for SEIROS employees only.”

Annette closes her eyes, trying to calm her breathing. “SEIROS employees,” she repeats, exhaling. “Tell me, Father. Do you know what that thing is? Do you know what the sword under the mountain is? Do you know what the Relics are? Or are you lying to me to cover up your own ignorance?” 

“Annette-”

“You have never once given me a straight answer, since the day I came here.” 

“You must understand, security is paramount-”

“Above the safety of your pilots? Above your daughter?” Annette yanks her arms, frustrated that her hands are still bound. “Did you know, Father? Did you know what Ingrid’s Relic would become?”

He is silent. 

“You didn’t, did you?” realization dawns on Annette. “You had no idea what would happen when the dummy program was initialized.” She raises up to her full height, bolstered by her righteous fury. “What  _ do _ you know, then? Are you a puppet, to dance on the Director’s strings?” 

“Enough!” 

“No!” Annette shouts. “You can’t lock me up. You need me to pilot the Relic.”

“That’s where you’re wrong, Annette,” Gilbert says, resting his hands on his desk. “The First pilot is ready. We have no need for you anymore.” 

“What?” Annette is caught off-guard. “Who?”

“You’re not entitled to that information,” Gilbert says again. “We have no need for pilots that cannot follow orders. You are dismissed.”

Annette stares at him, half-slumped, her hair tangled in her face from her outburst. “What?” 

“You heard me. Your identification pass has been revoked. You will be escorted off the property. If you are seen on SEIROS property you will be shot.” 

“Father-”

“Consider yourself lucky,” Gilbert says, rotating his chair to face away from her. “You could have been left in that cell. Guards?” 

“I can’t believe you!” Annette shouts as the door slides open behind her. “You’re a coward beholden to an organization that doesn’t care about a single one of us! They’ll discard you too, you know...I believed in you, Father.” Annette chokes. “I...I believed there was still the man my mother loved inside there, somewhere, but you are nothing! A sad old man with nothing in his heart.” She sniffles as a guard grasps her arms. “I can’t believe I ever once wanted you to be proud of me.” 

“Take her away,” Gilbert says, waving his hand. 

-

Ashe’s apartment is small and cramped, a single studio room with a half-kitchen, a futon spread on the floor, and every spare inch in between crammed with books. 

The television is on - a news report of SEIROS security forces rolling out, seizing control of districts. Implementing curfews. Setting up barricades. The newcaster’s voice is anxious. 

Annette lays on Ashe’s futon, staring blankly at the wall.

Behind her, her suitcase sits open by the door, all of her clothes haphazardly tossed inside. She had left in a hurry, leaving her keys on Catherine’s table without so much as a note. She curls up against herself, trying not to sniffle.

“Dinner’s almost ready,” Ashe says from the kitchen, where he tends to a cast-iron pan. “Want to get washed up before?”

Annette shakes her head.

Ashe folds his arms over his chest and looks at her sadly. His bruises are faded, now, and no bandages remain - there’s no sign he had ever been hurt at all. “Annette?”

Annette is silent.

Ashe turns the heat down on the stove and sits down on the edge of the futon, giving Annette space. “You need to eat something, Annette.” He gently pats her shoulder and she flinches at the touch. 

“Okay,” he says, pushing himself up again. “I’ll put some leftovers aside for you, does that sound okay?”

Again, nothing. 

She had been like this since showing up on his doorstep - her eyes dark and red-rimmed, her movements sluggish and weary. She had been silent almost the whole time - she spoke just long enough to say she needed somewhere to stay, and that had been enough for Ashe. He had hastily prepared space for her in his apartment and gotten to work on food. No one can be upset on a full stomach, he’d been taught. 

It’s not until the sun has set and the apartment is dark that Annette sits up and wraps her arms around her legs. 

“I got fired,” she says hoarsely. 

“What?” Ashe says, looking up from his book. “From SEIROS?”

Annette nods and rests her face on her knees. 

“What for?”

“I...it was…”

“Oh, yeah.” Everyone knew about the disastrous last battle. “Ingrid’s okay though, right?” 

“Yeah.” 

“Good,” Ashe breathes a sigh of relief and slips a bookmark into his book before closing it. “I, uh...I figured I owe you a thanks. And an apology.”

“For what?” 

“For…” Ashe shakes his head. “Not listening to you. Not...not paying attention. I thought it was so cool that you got to fight in the Relic, and I...it wasn’t until I was in the middle of it that I understood how scary it is.” He draws himself closer and gently touches her shoulder. “I had no idea, Annette. I...I thought I was going to die, and then seeing you…” he runs out of words, so instead he wraps an arm around her to give her a comforting half-hug. “You’re so brave. Braver than I could ever be.”

“It doesn’t matter anymore,” Annette says, staring at her feet. 

“What are you going to do?” Ashe asks.

“I don’t...I don’t know. Go home to Fhirdiad, I guess.”

“I know it’s not a lot of space,” Ashe shrugs, “but you’re welcome to stay here as long as you need.” He smiles and laughs sheepishly. “Dedue comes over on Tuesdays to make dinner, so we might be a little crowded.”

“Thank you, Ashe,” Annette says, reaching out to grasp his hand. She squeezes and hopes the pressure keeps him from feeling how much her hand shakes. 

-

“Buy you a drink, partner?”

Catherine looks up from her empty glass and furrows her brow. “Thought you were at work.”

“Calibration will take all night,” Shamir says, sliding out a stool and sitting next to Catherine. She leans on the bar and motions to the bartender. “Nothing for us to do until tomorrow morning.”

“Mm,” Catherine says noncommittally. 

“Long day?” Shamir asks, sliding a cigarette pack out of her jacket and pinning a cigarette between her lips. She tucks her head forward and flicks her lighter before passing it to Shamir. 

The bar is quiet, empty, soft neon lighting winding through the dark corners. Catherine lights a cigarette and inhales deeply.

“Yeah,” she says.

They drink in silence. 

It’s how Shamir prefers her social engagements - solitude, mostly, but solitude with someone else. Catherine doesn’t object - she’s not much in a talking mood. So she sits and drinks and watches the ashtray between them pile up with smoldering ends. The night wears on. 

Catherine isn’t exactly sure where she crosses the line from sober to drunk, but it’s where she wants to be. Numb, empty, stilling her aching chest with liquor and nicotine and no conversation at all. Liquor burns her throat and calms her hands and she doesn’t need to think about anything at all. 

“You okay, partner?” Shamir asks bluntly. 

Catherine looks up and frowns. Shamir isn’t usually the one to start conversations. Or to ask about others. “I…” she sighs and regards her empty glass. “I don’t know.”

“This about Dominic?”

Catherine nods. “All of them.”

Shamir says nothing as she crushes the end of a cigarette into the ashtray. There’s silence for a long while before Catherine speaks again. “I lied to Galatea. I didn’t tell her Dominic is gone.”

Shamir nods. “Probably for the best.”

“Still feels like shit, though.”

Shamir frowns. “You’re not usually one to worry. Starting to have doubts about our mission?”

“Do you think the Director is right?” Catherine asks. “The project is nearing completion?”

“I don’t know,” Shamir admits. “We finally wrestled Sothis back online, and she’s been acting strangely. Whatever the Director has planned, I hope she’s got a good handle on it.”

Catherine gives a sour laugh. “Above our pay grade to worry about, right?” 

“Something like that,” Shamir curls a wry half-grimace around the edge of her glass. 

The night air is cool on Catherine’s flushed face as they walk home together along the river. The river path is empty, the streets vacant and lit by glowing electric lamps and starlight above. The edge of Garreg Mach is quieter, the buildings are shorter, the roads are emptier. Shamir likes it that way.

Catherine sticks her hands in her jacket pockets as they walk. 

“Catherine,” Shamir says. 

“Mm.”

“You need to keep yourself together,” Shamir says. 

“I know. We’re almost done.”

“No, listen,” Shamir gently grasps her shoulder. “You’re falling apart, Catherine. You need to take a long, hard look at yourself, and you need to decide who you want to be. Do you understand me?”

“I…” Catherine rubs her temples. “Yeah.”

“Because this…” Shamir waves her hands. “This can’t go on, okay? I don’t know what the Director is having you do, but...you need to decide if it’s worth sticking your neck out for those kids.” She drops a burnt-out cigarette and crushes it under her boot. “You can’t keep playing both sides of the field like this.” 

“What do you know?” Catherine snaps. “What would you know about what I have to do? You don’t understand what it’s like to be in charge of…”

“Of what?” Shamir stands in front of her, blocking her path. “Of taking care of people? I have a simple job, Catherine. I keep the systems running and I keep the pilots alive. You’re right that I don’t understand what it’s like to be you.” She steps forwards. “But you can’t keep doing this to yourself.”

“Doing what?” Catherine scowls. “I’m just doing my job.”

“No, you’re torturing yourself,” Shamir frowns. “I know that you owe a great debt to the Director, but you can’t let your morality check out just because you’re given orders, and then turn around and beat yourself up for doing what you’re commanded to. It’s senseless.”

“What should I do, then?” Catherine shouts. “I owe Director Rhea - I owe this project - my life! I don’t-” her voice catches in her throat and she can’t stop herself from letting out a sob. “I…” she shakes her head, blinking back tears. “I don’t know...T-there’s no winning for me, Shamir,” she exhales. “I can’t disobey the director, but I don’t want the kids to be h-”

Shamir steps forward and grasps Catherine’s jacket collar, yanking her downwards, stifling her sobbing with a crash of her lips. 

Catherine’s breath hitches as Shamir catches her in a kiss, her hysteria and drunken sobs muted by Shamir’s firm hand and her soft lips.

Shamir doesn’t let go, doesn’t part their lips, until she can feel Catherine’s breathing slow, her panicked spasms slowing. 

-

Catherine lays on her side, watching Shamir smoke another cigarette. She gazes at the curves of her shoulder, the slight rise of her breasts under the sheets, the bare skin against pale-offwhite of the bed in the hazy light. Shamir sits up, the sheet slipping from her chest as she reaches out to drop her cigarette in the ashtray she left on the windowsill. 

The night is dark outside, but here in Shamir’s apartment, it’s warm. Catherine’s hair splays out around her in a golden halo around her head, her bare chest rising and falling slightly as she rolls over and lays on her back. 

Shamir cracks the window open enough to let the smell of smoke out into the cool night air. She stares at Catherine.

“What?” Catherine frowns, pushing herself up on her elbows and tying her hair up in a ponytail. 

“I...uh…” Shamir purses her lips. “About earlier, I-”

“Please,” Catherine says, falling back on her pillow with a dull thwump. “I don’t...no work talk, okay?”

“Right,” Shamir says, laying on one side. “All business with you.” Her lip curls into a grin.

“Mm, well, you are good at your job,” Catherine teases, reaching out to brush Catherine’s hair from her eyes. 

“Damn right,” Shamir says quietly, dipping her face to kiss Catherine again. Catherine reaches a hand up to cup the back of Shamir’s head and kiss her again, deeper, all her desperation and loneliness and pain slipping out into the soft warmth of her mouth. She kisses Shamir again, and Shamir kisses her back before dropping lower, trailing her lips down the curve of Catherine’s jaw, the dip of her collarbone, and then lower, and lower.

“Ah…” Catherine stifles as gasp as Shamir’s lips brush her navel. She reaches down and tangles her hands in Shamir’s hair, guiding her lower. Her hands are shaking and her chest shudders, and she releases Shamir’s head to instead grasp fistfuls of the bedsheets.

She moans again, closing her eyes, trying to shut out visions of blood and bone, Relics, murky shadows. 

-

“Are you sure you should be back so soon?” Felix asks, frowning.

“I’m fine,” Ingrid shakes her head, lifting one hand up to run through her hair. Her other arm hangs limply at her side, swathed in bandages over the torn sleeve of her plugsuit. Most of her is fine, she insisted, many times, though the doctors insisted she take it easy since she’s still technically in recovery. One eye glares at Felix, the other hidden behind a tangle of messy bangs and a black eyepatch.

“Don’t say I didn’t tell you so,” Felix sighs, standing up and adjusting his gauntlets. 

“Have you seen Annette anywhere?” Ingrid asks, swiveling her head around, adjusting to her new lack of peripheral vision. “She wasn’t at home, either.”

Felix shakes his head and reaches up to tie his hair back. “Can’t say I have.” 

“But she was here yesterday, right?”

Felix shrugs. 

“Do you even pay attention to your partners?” Ingrid chastises him as they exit the locker room and into the cold metal hallways of the SEIROS facility. 

“I have my own training to do. It’s not my problem if she’s slacking with her work.”

“I know,” Ingrid sighs. “It’s just not like her to up and leave. I haven’t seen her since...since the battle.” 

“Well, you can ask Catherine,” Felix says flatly as they round a corner. 

“Ask Catherine what?” Catherine asks, almost colliding with them as they intersect.

“Ah!” Ingrid shouts, stumbling backwards. “Oh, C-Commander!” 

“Hello Galatea,” Catherine says curtly, nodding at each of them. “Fraldarius.”

“We were wondering where Annette has been,” Felix folds his arms over his chest. “She hasn’t been training with me.”

“Ah, yes,” Catherine says, tilting her head down. She’s carrying a bundle of folders under one arm and takes the opportunity to nervously shuffle them. “She’s...well…”

“She’s okay, right?” Ingrid asks. “You told me she’s okay.”

“Yes, she’s…” Catherine sighs and rubs the back of her head. “She’s being replaced. We found the First pilot.”

“She’s WHAT?!” Ingrid shouts.

“The what?” Felix asks in unison. He looks from Ingrid to Catherine. “What’s the First pilot?”

“The First is a hypothetical pilot that SEIROS has been searching for,” Ingrid says, frowning. “A pilot whose Crest would allow them to interface with the first Relic ever uncovered.” She gazes at Catherine, her face half wonder and half confusion. “Glenn speculated that the First pilot would be able to interface with more than one Relic.”

Catherine nods. “We haven’t run the tests yet, but that’s the theory, yes.”

“Well?!” Ingrid asks harshly. “Who are they?!” She swivels her head around again. “Are they replacing Annette as Crusher’s pilot?” 

“They won’t be piloting Crusher,” Catherine assures her. “They won’t be piloting either of your Relics, either. They’re meeting with Shamir and the engineering team now.”

Catherine leads the two pilots down the hallways towards the Relic docks, Ingrid nervously fussing with her bandaged hand as they go.

“I don’t understand,” she speaks up. “What happened to Annette? Why is she being replaced?”

“She’s going back to Fhirdiad,” Catherine says, pulling out her ID card to swipe them through a locked door. 

“Why?”

“Ingrid, please stop asking questions,” Catherine says, and her furtive glance is enough to make Ingrid back off. “I…” Catherine hesitates. “I’m sorry, it’s...it’s complicated.”

“Is she not living with us anymore?” 

“I…” Catherine falters. 

The door slides open with a hiss and they stand at the entrance to the command center, 

The First pilot stands with their back to the door, meeting with Shamir and Cyril, but Ingrid recognizes them immediately. 

Dark, blue-green hair cascading over a black plugsuit, a slender, muscular frame, and when they turn, wide, curious eyes. 

“That’s…” Felix frowns. 

“Professor Byleth…” Ingrid breathes. 

Byleth turns and smiles brightly, waving at them.

Ingrid lifts a hand to wave politely in return. She looks uneasily at Catherine. “But…”

“Pilot Eisner will be part of the your team from now on,” Catherine says, heading for her seat in the command center. “Go get to know them.”

Felix and Ingrid stand in the doorway nervously, glancing at each other.

“Professor Byleth was killed in the attack on the Academy…” Felix says quietly.

“I know,” Ingrid nods. 

The two of them step closer together and the door slides shut behind them. 


	15. Chapter 15

“I don’t understand,” Ingrid says, detangling her hair with one hand. “How could Byleth still be alive?” 

“Did you see them die?” Felix asks.

“No,” Ingrid admits, shaking her head. “But Annette did, and Ashe did.” 

“I don’t like it.”

“I don’t either,” Ingrid says, leaning against the wall. The hallway is empty, quiet. In the distance, muffed by airtight doors and winding hallways, they can hear the sounds of machinery, electricity, turbines, the distinctive rumble of the movement of Relics. 

“What do you think’s going on out there?” Ingrid asks, pressing her palm against the wall. 

“What did Catherine say? Initialization tests?” 

“Yeah.”

Felix stands across from Ingrid, leaning against the far wall, his arms folded under his dark eyes. “Ingrid.”

“Hm?” Ingrid tilts her head. 

“What do you know about the First pilot?”

Ingrid picks at her bandages, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. “Not much,” she admits sheepishly. “It’s something Catherine, Glenn and I would talk about sometimes.” She looks up. “They wouldn’t tell us about the Relics, really, but I asked if Aegis Shield was the first one, and Catherine said it wasn’t.” Ingrid purses her lips. 

“How many are there?” 

Ingrid stares at the floor between them. 

“Twelve,” she says at last. She looks up. “At least, that’s what Catherine told me. She said most of them are destroyed - she was the test pilot for Thunderbrand, a Relic that was destroyed early into the development of the SEIROS project.”

“What are the Relics?” Felix asks plainly. “Do you know?”

Ingrid shakes her head. “No one does. I don’t even think they were made by human hands. They were...excavated, I think. Ancient weapons.”

“What are you two doing out here?” a stern voice startles Ingrid. 

“Oh! C-Commander Dominic!” Ingrid stammers, standing up straight. “Sir.”

Gilbert looks from Ingrid and her stiff salute to Felix, still slouched against the wall. “The two of you are dismissed for the day.”

“Commander?” Ingrid frowns. 

“Go home,” he looks at Ingrid, then Felix. “The both of you.” 

“No,” Ingrid says.

“What did you say to me?” Gilbert’s brow furrows. 

“I said no.” Ingrid folds her arms over her chest. “What happened to Annette? Why isn’t she here?” 

Gilbert’s frown deepens into a scowl. “I’m sorry, Pilot Galatea, have you forgotten that I am your commanding officer?”

“I don’t care!” Ingrid snaps. “A commanding officer should care for their subordinates, but you’ve never once cared about me, about Annette, about Gl...about any of the other pilots!” She stalks forwards, fury boiling in her chest. “All you have done is lie to us and manipulate us, and the sky itself could be falling down and you wouldn’t tell us why.” Ingrid gestures in the general direction of the command center. “Apparently the dead walk and you’ve got nothing to say but ‘go home’?!”

“What are you talking about?” Gilbert glares at her, his gaze flipping between Ingrid and Felix, as if pleading for Felix to put an end to her ravings. “What nonsense are you going on about?” 

“Annette saw Byleth die!” Ingrid says. “She saw it happen, and now she’s been replaced?! How do you explain that?” 

“And you believed a silly girl like her?” 

“Of course I would!” Ingrid shouts, her voice echoing in the empty metal hallway. “She has never once been anything but kind, and honest, and good, and she is better than any of us!” Ingrid gestures between the three of them. “And how do you repay her? Lying to her? Kicking her to the curb? Abandoning her again?!”

“Enough!” Gilbert shouts. “Hold your tongue before-”

Felix grasps Ingrid’s hand and tries in vain to tug her back. “Come on, Ingrid, it’s not worth it-”

“No!” Ingrid throws him off and stalks towards Gilbert, pressing a finger to his chest. “Do you have any idea how hard your daughter worked to protect this city? She genuinely believed that we were making a difference, that we were doing  _ good _ ! And this is how you repay her.” Ingrid scoffs. “Of course you wouldn’t understand. She sacrificed more than you could ever know. All of us have, while you sit in your office and tell us to die for...for what?” 

“Ingrid…” Felix’s voice wavers as he rests a hand on her shoulder. 

Gilbert’s voice is curt and harsh enough to make Ingrid wince. “Enough!” he glares at Ingrid, and then Felix. “Both of you are suspended. Go home. Now. Before you cause any more trouble.”

“But-” Ingrid protests.

“Be lucky that all you’re getting is a suspension, and not a court-martial.”

Felix grasps Ingrid and drags her away. “Yes, sir,” he grumbles in compliance. 

Ingrid and Felix are both silent as they make the long trek back to the locker rooms. It’s not until Commander Dominic is out of sight that Felix ducks into a side alcove and grasps Ingrid’s good arm, roughly yanking her with him.

“H-hey!” Ingrid protests, her voice muffled as he clamps a hand over her mouth.

“Hush,” he whispers, his eyes shifting as he listens to the Commander’s disappearing footsteps.

“What are you doing?” Ingrid hisses, pulling away. “We’re supposed to go home!”

“After all that fuss you kicked up? You can go home if you want,” Felix says, “but I need to know what my brother died for.” He glances down the hallway, towards the bank of elevators. “What any of us are dying for.”

Ingrid follows his gaze and nods. “I’m coming with you, then.”

Felix scoffs. “Are you sure? We aren’t exactly following orders here.”

“I think I’ve had enough of following SEIROS’ orders,” Ingrid huffs. “What’s the plan?” 

“We should stop at the locker room to get our guns,” Felix says, sticking his head around the corner. “And then - oh, shit.”

“What is it?” Ingrid presses herself against the wall.

“The First pilot.”

“Shit.”

“Move,” Felix says, ducking down and darting across the hall. “Into the elevators.”

The call button takes an agonizingly long time to do its job, even as Ingrid sits and hammers the button with her thumb, nervously glancing between it and the pilot walking down the hallway towards them. 

Byleth hasn’t seemed to notice them yet, but something about them seems off. Their motions fluid, their face stiff, their eyes unnatural. 

The elevator dings and Felix darts inside, yanking Ingrid in after him, but in that split second, she makes eye contact with Byleth and their eyes widen.

The elevator door slides shut.

“What now?” Ingrid asks, scanning her eyes over the buttons. 

The buttons are labeled with only the barest scraps of information - letters and numbers in no clear ordering pattern. At the bottom of the panel is a single unmarked red button.

Ingrid glances at Felix, and then the panel before hitting the red button with her thumb. It clicks. Nothing happens.

“Shit,” she mutters, pressing it again.

“There’s a card reader above the buttons,” Felix points out. “Maybe we need our IDs.”

“Which we can’t get without passing Byleth and the command center,” Ingrid sighs. “Any ideas?” 

The elevator shakes and begins to descend.

“Um…” Ingrid and Felix stare at each other. “Did you do that?”

Felix shakes his head.

The elevator descends, lower and lower.

“Someone must have called it,” Ingrid breathes. “They’ll see us as soon as the doors open.”

“And then we’ll be shot for trespassing,” Felix sighs, running his hand through his hair. “Here, help me remove the access hatch. 

Ingrid glances nervously at the floor counter above the door, watching it tick down as she braces herself against the wall. She grunts as Felix scales her and begins pounding his fist against the elevator’s access hatch. 

“Hurry…” she says nervously, watching the floor counter. The numbers stop updating, instead lit with a single red display.  _ S1. _

“Got it!” Felix shouts, bashing his arm through the hatch. It swings open and bangs against the top of the elevator. He grasps the edges of the hatch and hauls himself out.

“Hey, a little help here?” Ingrid calls up after him.

Felix lays down on top of the elevator and lowers his arms to pull Ingrid up out of the hatch. She kneels on top of the metal box and closes the hatch behind them.

“Well,” Felix says, sitting down. “We’re well and truly fucked now.”

Ingrid stares past Felix out into the yawning void that stretches before them. The elevator shaft is all scaffolding, metal I-beams, a twisting maze of electrical circuitry and metal bracing and concrete support structures that they whiz by fast enough to ruffle their hair in the wind. And beyond that, nothing but darkness, above and below. 

Ingrid grasps on tightly and leans out, looking down as they descend. 

“I’m gonna be sick,” she lurches, holding desperately onto the edge of the elevator.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Felix pulls her back from the edge. “It has to stop eventually.” 

“R-right,” Ingrid nods. “Right.”

The elevator slows and approaches something resembling a concrete shaft. They exit the void and are plunged into the shaft before skidding to a halt. The elevator dings. 

Ingrid exhales, relieved to have stopped.

“Now wh-”

“Shh!” Felix hisses at her. “Quiet. Look for a ladder.” 

Ingrid nods and gets to her feet to begin poking around the elevator shaft. It’s double-wide, wide enough for two cars, and the half of the shaft that is empty is another endless drop into blackness, lit periodically with glowing white maintenance lights. Beside the lights, between each set of car guide rails is a rusty ladder, descending and ascending infinitely in both directions. 

Ingrid grimaces and steps out. The rungs are slippery and rattle under each footstep as she climbs off the car and helps Felix do the same. She grips the rungs tightly and breathes deep.

“Bet more depth perception would help,” she jokes.

Felix scowls at her. “Climb down, look for a hatch or a door...thing, or something.”

“Thing?”

Felix glares at her.

Ingrid begins to climb down slowly, one rung at a time. The elevator dings again and begins to ascend.

“Well, we’re trapped now,” Ingrid says, laughing. Her laugh echoes up and down the shaft. “Where do you think we are?”

“Somewhere under the mountain,” Felix says, craning his neck. “Keep looking.”

“Here,” Ingrid says, gripping tight to the ladder and reaching one hand out to pull back a plastic  _ Emergency Access _ handle. The elevator doors slide open with a hiss. 

The two of them climb out of the shaft and into a dark, narrow walkway. Like the corridors of the main SEIROS facility, it’s metal, but a slick black metal etched with angular patterns. Along the corners, blue neon tube lighting illuminates the hallway as it stretches into the distance. The elevator slides shut behind them.

“Where are we?” Ingrid asks again, kneeling to examine the tube lighting. She prods it gently, surprised that it’s warm. She glances at Felix. “I don’t like this. I think we should leave.”

“No,” Felix shakes his head. His footsteps echo down the hallway as he steps past Ingrid. “Don’t you want to know? Don’t you  _ need _ to know?”

“I…” Ingrid swallows. She stands and nods. “Right.”

The hallway broadens as it enters a large, dimly lit chamber. Ingrid and Felix split up, each checking the walls for light switches. 

“Got it,” Felix says, throwing a heavy metal lever.

With loud  _ clunks _ the chamber is lit in sections as power courses into it. 

The walls are slick black metal, wire and circuitry and soft glowing yellow, illuminating the center of the room, where tubes and wires spill from the ceiling and converge at a single point - a glass tank, dark and murky and poorly lit, spanning the length of the chamber. 

Ingrid swallows and steps forward. She can see shapes in the tank, vague forms, motionless but present. She presses her face to the glass, peering deeper inside.

With a final  _ clunk _ the tank illuminates, a deep glowing orange. 

Ingrid screams and stumbles back, falling to her feet as the tank fills with faces, bodies - naked figures, tangled limbs, wide, blank eyes, numb and dead expressions. 

Not real faces, not really - puppet faces, their expressions blank and their eyes glazed over, their bodies suspended in the orange glow of the tank, their hair fluttering dark and green around each head in waves. 

“Oh...oh my god,” Ingrid raises a hand to her mouth. 

Felix stares, his cynicism replaced with shock and horror as he kneels behind Ingrid to support her. 

“I d...I don’t understand,” Ingrid shakes her head, her whole body shaking. 

“That’s...that’s Byleth…” Felix breathes.

Ingrid stares at the tank, and countless Byleths stare back, motionless. Like drowned corpses floating in the water. “The First pilot…” she whispers hoarsely. 

“Backups,” a voice agrees. 

Felix and Ingrid both whip their heads around, surprised at the woman that forms from the darkness of the hallway beyond. 

Neither of them had seen the Director previously, but she’s unmistakable. There’s no one else it  _ could _ be, not with her long green hair and her dark, angry eyes. She’s a beautiful woman, elegant even in a SEIROS jumpsuit. She holds a pistol out in one steady hand as she circles around Ingrid and Felix on the floor.

“They won’t be necessary, though,” she says, approaching the wall. She opens a breaker panel and begins flipping switches. “The tests are complete, the dummy profiles are written. The First will take its place soon.”

“What are you-” Ingrid raises a hand out, as if it could stop a bullet from the Director’s gun. 

As Director Rhea flips the final switch, the tank dims.

Ingrid and Felix stare in horror as the bodies in the tank begin to dissolve back into the soupy liquid, staining the orange red as their arms and legs melt, flesh turning to thick red liquid, the tank darkening as faces and limbs and bodies recede into nothingness. 

“Now,” Rhea says, slamming the breaker shut. “The redundancies are no longer necessary. You two have served your purpose.” She approaches the tank, gazing into the murky red liquid, the color of blood. The color of the inside of a Relic cockpit. 

Felix moves, but before he can scramble to his feet, Rhea fires.

The pistol’s report is deafening in the enclosed chamber, making Ingrid flinch and making Felix freeze. 

“There’s no sense in running,” Rhea says without turning, her free hand stroking the glass of the tank.

“Please,” Ingrid looks up at her. “Please, I...I don’t understand…”

“You wouldn’t,” Rhea leaves her hand pressed up against the glass. “None of your kind would.” 

Felix and Ingrid glance at each other nervously.

“So what then?” Felix asks. “You kill us, and then what?”

“Then the SEIROS Project will reach its final stages,” Rhea turns, lowering her pistol. “The First will merge with the Sword of the Creator, and Mother will be reborn. The world will be cleansed, as it was in the past.” 

“And the other Relics?” Ingrid snaps. “They’d be useless to you, wouldn’t they? You would need us to pilot them.”

Rhea laughs. “The First can pilot them, but it will not need to. It is a vessel to host Sothis, nothing more.”

“Sothis...the AI program…?” Ingrid frowns, her head spinning and her stomach churning. 

“That’s right,” another voice says flatly, stepping out of the shadows of the hallway. “Only, it’s not just an AI program, is it?” Shamir asks, her hand resting on a pistol at her side. “It’s conscious. It’s alive.” 

Rhea lifts her pistol and points it at Shamir. “Drop it.” 

Shamir drops her pistol to the floor and lifts both hands up. 

“Kick it over there,” Rhea gestures with her gun to the wall. Shamir grimaces and obeys, sending the pistol skittering across the floor. “Why are you here?”

“Strange readings from the electrical systems,” Shamir says plainly, lowering her hands. “The pilots’ plugsuits leave a residual power trace. I wondered what they were doing so deep in the facility, but I never could have imagined...any of this.”

“You don’t belong here, Nevrand. You shouldn’t have come.”

Shamir stares up at the tangled wires and tubes pouring from the ceiling into the tank. “Is this what Sothis has been doing? Devoting so much processing power to…” her lips part slightly, the closest expression to shock Ingrid had ever seen her make. “It was copying itself. The whole system, copying itself to be implanted into those...things, those...artificial humans.” 

“Ordinarily, I would rather have Sothis be destroyed than to be poisoned by humans,” Rhea presses her hand against the tank. “But these...are untainted by human hands.” 

Shamir glances at Felix and Ingrid. 

“Why are you here, Nevrand?” Rhea asks as she stares into the tank.

“To protect my pilots.”

Anger flashes across Rhea’s face before she composes herself. “Your pilots.” 

“That’s right.” 

Rhea lifts her pistol and fires.

Shamir lets out a grunt as a bullet punches her side, piercing her jumpsuit with a splatter of blood. She collapses on the floor, clutching her midsection. 

“Shamir!” Ingrid screams, leaping to her feet. Felix yanks her down as another report echoes around the chamber, a bullet sinking into the metal wall with a clank. 

Shamir groans and crawls forwards towards Ingrid and Felix, blood dripping from her mouth. Her hand smears blood across the floor as she crawls towards them. “I’m s-sorry…” She coughs and lurches, blood pooling beneath her on the slick black tile. 

Rhea lowers her gun again, pointing it at Shamir’s writhing, bleeding body.

“Please,” Ingrid asks, reaching out to grasp Shamir’s hand. Her blood smears dark red across Ingrid’s plugsuit glove. “Please, Director…”

“It is far past the time for mercy,” Rhea says, pulling back the slide on her pistol and ejecting a spent cartridge. She stands over Shamir and presses the muzzle of the gun against her head.

A gunshot rings out, echoing in the chamber, and Ingrid and Felix both flinch, shouting out in shock and protest.

Rhea stumbles back from Shamir, dropping her pistol to the floor with a clatter. Blood blooms in her midsection, dark and red soaking through her clothes and pooling on the floor.

There’s another gunshot and Rhea’s shoulder jerks backwards as blood splatters on the glass tank. She collapses against the tank, coughing blood. 

Catherine stands at the entrance to the chamber, both hands held out, trembling. She drops her pistol to the floor and stumbles forwards to kneel at Shamir’s side.

“It’s too late,” Rhea laughs, closing her eyes.

“C-Catherine…” Shamir says weakly. 

“It’s okay,” Catherine says. “I’m here.”

When Rhea’s lips part, her teeth are stained with blood. Her laugh is coarse, hollow. “Oh, Cassandra. You had so much promise.”

Catherine presses her hand against Shamir’s wound, prompting a hiss of pain. “Sorry,” she mutters quietly. 

“You were our finest pilot, you know,” Rhea continues, blood pooling beneath her. She coughs.

Catherine’s hands shake as she tries to tend to Shamir. Ingrid gently takes her hands and pushes her back. “What’s she talking about?” Ingrid asks quietly, putting pressure on Shamir. 

“You never did tell them, did you,” Rhea smiles and leans her head back against the glass of the tank. “No, I thought you might not.”

“Tell us what?” Felix asks. 

“What, I wonder…” Rhea closes her eyes. 

“You...you were a Relic pilot…” Ingrid says quietly. 

Catherine’s face darkens. “I…”

“You were nothing before SEIROS,” Rhea coughs and weakly pushes herself up. “Some estranged trust fund brat with no future.” 

“Shut up!” Catherine shouts, clamping hands around her head. “Shut up!” 

“Catherine…” Ingrid breathes, looking between the commander and the director. “You...you killed her…”

“It doesn’t matter,” Catherine slips her arm under Shamir’s legs and picks her up. “We need to go.”

Ingrid and Felix look at each other, unsure what to do until the whole chamber rumbles and shakes.

“An earthquake,” Catherine says, helping Shamir drape an arm over her shoulder. “It’s starting.”

“I don’t understand!” Ingrid says, following Catherine towards the elevators. “What’s starting? What was the director talking about?”

“I can explain on the way up,” Catherine says, lashing out a leg to kick the call elevator button. 

The chamber shakes again, flickering the lights and kicking dust from the ceiling.

When the elevator arrives, Felix and Ingrid help Catherine set Shamir down against the car wall. “Felix, can you keep pressure on the wound?” Catherine asks, supporting Shamir’s back. 

Felix nods and presses his hand to the wound, prompting a wince and a groan from Shamir.

Ingrid kneels at their side. “Is there anything I can do?”

“Be ready to help carry her.”

Ingrid nods as the elevator shakes and rattles again. It groans, threatening to stop. Ingrid swivels her head, worried about the car’s integrity. “What’s happening?” she asks again. She frowns at Catherine. “Why did you kill the Director?”

“I…” Catherine closes her eyes. “Where do I even start…?”

“Ailell,” Shamir says weakly, a bloody hand reaching up to brush Catherine’s cheek.

Catherine nods and takes Shamir’s hand, squeezing lightly. 

“Ailell?” Felix frowns. “That’s a wasteland.”

“It wasn’t always like that,” Catherine says quietly.

Ingrid nods. “I heard there was some sort of industrial accident, years ago. Everyone’s been kept away since.” 

“The first Relic was unearthed in Ailell,” Catherine says, staring at the floor. “Thunderbrand. The Relic that synchronizes with the Crest of Charon.”

“Your crest,” Ingrid says.

Catherine nods. “I was brought onto the project to be its test pilot. Our...our end goal wasn’t synchronization, but full synthesis.” She looks up. “I didn’t know that it…” she closes her eyes again. “I was led to believe that the process was reversible, so I volunteered for the first synthesis attempt.” 

The elevator shakes and the lights flicker and die. Red emergency lights turn on. 

Shamir’s blood looks black in the red light. Catherine bows her head. 

“We didn’t...no one could have been prepared for what happened. The merge began, but something went wrong. The Relic...became something else. I don’t know how to describe it, but it was…”

“A monster,” Felix says flatly, shifting to press his other hand against Shamir’s wound. 

“Yes,” Catherine admits. “The Director pulled me out before it could consume me, but the merge was underway. Thunderbrand awakened, and without a pilot, without control, it was unstoppable. SEIROS security forces tried to destroy it, but nothing worked - at least, not conventional weapons.”

“The barrier fields,” Ingrid says, realization dawning on her. “Normal weapons can’t pierce it.”

Catherine nods. “We think it must have burned itself out, because it stopped functioning at some point and released its stored energy in a single blast.” 

“What the Director is planning…” Felix frowns. “It could happen again, then? Here?” 

Catherine bows her head, gently pressing herself against Shamir. “We have failsafes, but the First pilot’s dummy profile is incomplete. There’s know way to know what will happen when synchronization starts. We can’t let that happen.”

It’s quiet in the elevator, in the shadow of red emergency lighting. The car dings and the doors open. 

“Ingrid, with me,” Catherine stands up, bracing Shamir. “We need to take her to the infirmary.” She looks at Felix. “Go to the command center. If Cyril is still there, tell him to begin the boot sequence for Aegis and Lúin.” 

-

Byleth stands at the foot of the concrete ramp, their plugsuit stained red and dripping. The earthquakes had shattered and cracked the concrete bridge, destroying the connecting walkway between the elevator and the massive Relic.

It’s silent, save the lapping of blood against the pile of tangled bones, bodies twisted and writhing, prostrate before the Sword of the Creator. The Sword itself towers above it all, unmoving, sword plunged through its chest. 

Byleth begins to climb upwards.


	16. Chapter 16

Annette stands on the train platform, rolling suitcase resting against her leg. She takes her headphones off and drapes them around her neck, squinting as she listens to the terminal announcement. 

_ Attention metro passengers. Due to the earthquakes, the arrival of the 1:30 train will be delayed. _

Annette pulls her phone out of her pocket and checks her messages. 

Mercie is excited to see her again. Ashe is wishing her a safe journey. She stares at her contacts list, eyes lingering on Ingrid’s name. Nothing from her, not since she had been court-martialed.

There’s a rumble and Annette’s luggage topples over, followed by the girl herself. The earthquakes are intensifying, she frowns, pushing herself up and dusting off her scuffed knees. 

_ Attention metro passengers _ , the message comes again. 

No one else is on the platform. 

She swivels around to look out at the city, down the platform to the road Catherine had first picked her up on, on her first day in Garreg Mach. She leans against the railing and sighs. 

Power lines shake and swing and the earth shakes again. 

A warbling siren kicks up, echoing out across the empty city streets. 

Annette’s heart instinctively catches in her chest. Her stomach drops, her immediate physiological response to hearing the siren. 

_ Attention metro passengers, _ the message repeats.  _ An emergency security order is in place. Report to the nearest shelter. _

Annette had never been on this side of the siren before. 

She frowns. In the distance, past the train tracks, over the trees, she can see birds scatter and take to the air, disturbed by something. Disturbed by something big. 

She stands up on her tiptoes, a vain effort to see more. 

The trees are churning and frothing like the sea. Leaves and branches are kicked up into the sky in puffs of dirt and debris as the forest parts, opening like a great mouth and spilling out monsters, twisting flesh and iron and gnashing claws and fangs. 

Annette’s eyes go wide. 

Demonic Beast pour out of the forest, bounding over the train tracks and landing with a crunch of asphalt and metal in the city streets. 

Annette screams and drops to her knees, shielding herself weakly with her arms as Beasts destroy the track and station on their way into the city. It’s more Beasts than she had ever seen - every kind, four-legged and animalistic, two-legged and humanoid, flapping leather wings and gnashing teeth. Most have golden masks on their heads, keeping their mouths back as the Beasts tear into the city, thrashing and clawing and carving a swath of destruction.

Annette, shaking, pulls her phone out and frantically dials. 

“Come on, Catherine, come on…”

She nervously swivels her head, checking to make sure the coast is clear before climbing down from the platform onto the train tracks, now just a segment of rail between twisted columns of black smoke and debris. She climbs through the wreckage and down from the tracks, dropping into the space below, the metal support struts holding the ruinous tracks aloft. 

Her phone buzzes. “Annette?”

“Catherine!” Annette whispers, making herself small and pressing her back against a section of concrete. “Catherine, what’s happening?” 

“You tell me that, Annette,” Catherine says. “Our security systems on the surface are down.”

Annette pokes her head out, scanning the streets. “There are so many Beasts...I don’t know what to do.” She chokes back tears.

“Okay…” Catherine’s voice quiets. “Felix, press down here. Thank you.” She speaks louder. “Annette, where are you?”

She can just barely hear Ingrid’s voice over the phone, shouting something about IV tubing. 

“I’m…” Annette breathes heavily, trying not to panic. “I’m at Garreg Mach Station.”

“Okay,” Catherine says calmly. “You’re a civilian now, which means you need to get to an emergency shelter. There’s one three blocks north of you. Do you understand?”

“Okay,” Annette swallows. 

“There will be signs for it. Just follow the signs.”

“Okay.”

“Can you stay on the line for me?” Catherine asks, her voice still cool.

“Y-yeah,” Annette says.

A shadow blots out the sun above her. She tilts her head up, slowly. 

A Beast is resting on the tracks, its claws curled around the metal rails, its head bowed and its golden mask glinting in the sun. As it tips its head down and pokes around, the mask’s bead curtain drags along the broken tracks, rattling. 

Annette clamps a hand over her mouth.

“Annette, are you there?”

“Yeah,” she whispers.

The Beast whips its head down, and in the flurry of motion Annette can see the teeth behind its mask. It screeches and digs its claws into the rail, peeling them back with a sickening groan. The metal snaps, showering bits of railing and sparks down onto Annette. She screams and bolts, from the shadow of the track struts and into the street. She weaves past crushed cars and debris, clambering over cracked concrete as she heads north.

The Beast screeches again and leaps into the road after her. 

Annette sprints, hard. As hard as she can.

It’s not enough. The Beast bounds towards her, smashing a fire hydrant and spraying a geyser of water into the air. It knocks aside cars, smashing them into storefronts as it runs. 

Annette makes a hard turn, skidding and tumbling to the concrete as she does. 

Garreg Mach security forces have barricaded the road, a covered truck of soldiers parked next to a missile battery. 

Annette doesn’t have time to scramble to her feet before the soldiers open fire on the Beast. 

Bullets harmlessly plink and spark off the Beast’s barrier. 

One of the soldiers shouts something and the missile battery fires, columns of flame shooting out as it spits rockets. 

Annette pushes herself to her feet, bleeding from skinned legs as she goes. She limps into a smashed storefront as the missiles sail past her, colliding with the Beast’s barrier and erupting into balls of flame. 

Annette dives behind cover just as fire billows out behind her.

-

“Annette? Annette? Shit,” Catherine mutters, snapping her phone shut. 

“Is she okay?” Ingrid asks nervously. 

“I don’t know,” Catherine sighs. She glances at Shamir’s motionless body, resting on a bloody infirmary cot. “You two need to get to the docks and gear up.”

“Yes ma’am,” Ingrid says, grabbing Felix’s hand and yanking him away from Shamir’s bed and towards the hallway. They both break into a sprint, their steps echoing. The hallway shakes and rumbles around them.

“What’s your plan, exactly?” Felix asks. 

“I don’t know,” Ingrid admits, huffing from the exertion of sprinting. “I...I’ll figure it out.” 

The docks are almost empty, save a single figure hunched over a computer in the command center. Cyril looks up as the two pilots enter. 

“We’re ready to launch,” he says. “What’s going on? Nobody’s been responding.”

“Everything’s going to shit,” Felix says. 

“Right.”

-

Annette huddles in the ruins, arms clamped over her head. 

The Beast was unfazed by the soldiers’ attacks but took the opportunity to switch targets, smashing through their barricade and splintering the missile battery apart in a shower of sparks and metal. 

Annette fights back tears. 

When the sound of the Beast’s attack quiets, Annette takes a deep breath and stands up.

The street is in ruins, the security barricade a mire of blood and twisted metal debris. Annette picks her way around it, stopping to pick a pistol out of a pool of blood. She grimaces and kneels to wipe it off on the ground. 

It’s not much, but it's something. 

She tries to remember her training - all of her combat knowledge, all of her skills and practice. Acquire intel first. She holds her pistol out in front of herself with shaking hands as she rounds the corner. In the distance, she can see more fighting - more soldiers, more Beasts. An armored SEIROS truck blows past her, laden down with men in body armor holding rifles. 

Why so many Beasts? Why now, of all times? They’re moving not just out of bloodthirst, but with purpose, plunging through the city towards downtown, towards the skyscrapers and office buildings. Annette scrambles up the makeshift ramp of a destroyed overpass, looking for higher ground.

The city in chaos unfolds before her. Beasts are swarming everywhere, through the streets, clashing with armed city security officers and SEIROS forces in equal measure. City security pushes back against SEIROS control, gunshots echoing down alleyways and streets as turmoil and confusion spreads. Everywhere, fire billows up from weapons batteries, smoke coils in thick black columns towards the sky. The Beasts’ barriers spark and shimmer under the barrage of conventional weaponry as they tear through buildings and barricades. 

Annette holds her pistol tight to her chest and sits down again, back against the concrete guard wall. She breathes in, out, trying to will herself to look up again, to face the carnage. 

A thought eats at the back of her mind.

_ I could have done something. _

It’s a ridiculous thought - what chance would she stand against an army of monsters? But the guilt is there all the same. She should be piloting. She should be defending her city. Not running away like a coward. 

She bites back tears and curls into herself, dropping her pistol with a clatter. 

She can’t stop herself from crying. 

“Don’t run away,” she breathes, commanding herself. She tries to picture her friends - where are they now? Ashe is likely in an emergency shelter, but will those hold against such an onslaught? Ingrid and Felix, likely loading up into their Relics, preparing to fight for the city and its people. Catherine...with embarrassment, Annette realizes she dropped her phone when she was startled by the Demonic beast. 

She lost track of where she was while running away, too. She doesn’t know where the shelter is, where anything is. Her only waypoint is the battle, intensifying closer to the center of the city. 

She wipes her face with her sleeve and sits up, looking over the guard wall.

There, amidst the chaos, amidst the fighting - a smile crests her face, relief flooding into her chest. A Relic. 

Not a moment later, her heart sinks. The Relic holds out a rifle - not Abraxas, not Fimbulvetr, nothing Annette recognizes. 

And the Relic fires, pulsing off a shot. A column of swirling purplish energy cascades down, shattering a building, collapsing it into a heap, the ruins sliding into the street and burying a military installation in rubble. 

The Relic lifts its rifle to its shoulder, standing watch as Beasts swarm around it, and past it, bounding over the now-buried barricade.

_ An enemy Relic?! _

-

Lúin breaks into a sprint as soon as it hits the ground.

Ingrid pushes it to its absolute limit, sprinting through the forests around Garreg Mach, bounding over rocky ridges and clusters of forest, lashing out and knocking aside trees as she goes. Her rifle bounces against the Relic’s back, too hastily armed to properly latch into its casing. 

“Ingrid, wait!” Felix calls after her, following her trail towards the city. 

Catherine’s voice crackles over the radio.

“Hey, you two there? You read me?”

“Loud and clear, ma’am,” Ingrid says, stone-faced. She bounds over powerlines and lands with a crash and shatter of concrete in the street on the edge of the city. She braces herself and lifts her rifle. 

“Ingrid, think this through!” Felix lands at her side. “You can’t just charge into battle without a plan, you’ll get yourself killed!”

Ingrid draws her lance and leaps into the fray, plunging the blade into the first Demonic Beast that passes close enough. The sizzling energy blade crashes against the Beast’s barrier with a splash of sparks, and then a shatter as Ingrid pushes the blade through and into the Beast’s flesh. 

Blood erupts from its body in a red fountain, spraying Lúin and the street in red. 

Felix grits his teeth and draws his sword and shield, bashing away Beasts as he tries to keep pace with Ingrid. “Ingrid, slow down!” 

“Commander?” Ingrid’s voice is strong and unwavering, even as Lúin smashes its shoulder into a flying Beast. Its wings beat against Lúin’s hull as it claws and rips at the Relic. “What are your orders?”

“Hold on, we’re still trying to get a handle on the situation,” Catherine reports back. 

Ingrid lifts the Beast and slams it into the ground, dazing it before she drives her lance through its barrier. Felix pushes Aegis Shield to skid to a halt at her side, slicing his sword down and cutting into the Beast’s flesh. 

“Do you know if Annette’s safe?” Ingrid asks. 

“I…” Catherine pauses. “I don’t know,” she admitted. “We can’t worry about that right now.”

Ingrid is silent, her Relic slumped over as the pilot inside thinks.

Felix crouches Aegis Shield in front of Lúin and plants his shield in the concrete with a crash of steel. “You need to focus, Ingrid. People are counting on us.”

“Right,” Ingrid nods, taking a deep breath. “Right.” She sheathes her lance and swaps it out for her rifle, resting the barrel on the upper edge of Felix’s shield. 

Catherine’s voice is tense, almost quiet. “What’s the situation look like?”

“It’s chaos up here, Commander,” Ingrid says, scanning the city skyline. Plumes of smoke coil above buildings toppled into each other, piles of class and concrete marred by explosions and the tattered remnants of military outposts and vehicles. “The city defense forces aren’t looking so hot.”

“Well, that’s what your job is, pilots. How many targets?”

“I…” Ingrid shakes her head. “Too many to count. It’s an all-out attack.”

“Okay,” Catherine says. “Just do what you can. Make your way downtown.”

“Commander?” Ingrid asks, lifting her rifle as Aegis stands up in front of her. 

“Ingrid, I’m trying to do something here.”

Ingrid exhales.  _ Right _ . 

She holds her rifle forward as she and Felix move through the streets in tandem, Felix bashing Beasts to the side, giving Ingrid the time to blast them with a pulse of Fimbulvetr. The gun’s energy pours out, crackling against the Beasts’ sides and stunning them long enough for Felix and Ingrid to continue their trek deeper into the heart of the war-torn city. 

“Look at that,” Felix says, gesturing with his shield. “What are they doing?”

Ingrid frowns and sits forward in her pilot’s seat, readjusting. “It looks like they’re circling something…” She flicks her radio on. “Commander, I’m switching on direct video. Do you know what the Beasts are doing?”

“It looks like they’re trying to defend something,” Catherine says. “Wait, hold on.”

Over the radio, Ingrid can hear Catherine’s phone ring. 

“Hello?”

Ingrid grimaces and pulses off another shot of Fimbulvetr, stunning a flying Beast and sending it crashing down into the top of an office building in a shower of ice and glass. Felix thrusts his sword forward and smashes the Beast’s barrier before lopping its head off. Blood pours down the side of the building as the Beast’s golden mask crashes to the street. 

“Annette?” Catherine’s voice is shaky, loud enough to startle Ingrid into stumbling back. 

“What’s happening?!” Ingrid shouts. “What’s going on?”

“Ingrid, be quiet,” Catherine says again. “Yes. Okay. Are you sure? Right.” Her voice crackles then comes back into focus. “Annette just called from a city defense barricade. She said that there’s an enemy Relic leading the Beasts deeper into the city.”

“An enemy?” Felix asks. 

“I don’t know what it is, but it’s not one of ours,” Catherine says. “You two need to stop it.”

“Ah, ma’am?” Ingrid asks again.

“What, Ingrid?” 

“Where was Annette calling from?” 

“I don’t…” Catherine sighs. “Annette, where are you right now?” 

Felix bashes another Beast with his shield, the blunt force shattering its barrier apart into a thousand shimmering sparks. Ingrid drops her rifle and lunges, plunging her lance into its exposed belly. It writhes and squirms, howling in pain as its thrashing flips cars and smashes through footbridges. 

“She’s at the defense barricade set up by the Vestra office complex. Ingrid, you…” Catherine grows quiet for a moment. “I filled her in on the situation. Go get our girl.”

-

Annette slams the black satellite phone back into its case, shutting the cover before crouching down behind the comms truck. On the other side of her, a few scattered security guards pulse off rounds from their machine guns, uselessly peppering barriers. 

Annette presses her back against the side of the truck and nervously glances over the front of the truck.

One of the guards turns and sees her. “Civilian!” he shouts gruffly, lifting his rifle.

Annette stands up and raises her hands over her head, pistol dangling from her forefinger. “Don’t shoot!” she cries, backing away. “I’m SEIROS!”

Two of the guards glance at each other. 

“I’m one of SEIROS’ pilots,” Annette breathes, lowering her gun. 

The guards raise their rifles and fire. 

Annette screams and drops to her knees, covering her head as glass and sparks shower down on her. 

A Demonic Beast leaps down, crushing the truck and swiping its claws at the security guards. 

Annette scrambles to her feet and staggers, away, gasping for breath, blood streaming from cuts on her face and shoulders. She presses hands against herself, checking for bullet wounds. 

_ Why are they shooting at me?! _

She scrambles over a flipped car and through a hole in the front of the office complex, climbing through debris and tangled metal. 

The Beast, finished demolishing the security checkpoint, bounds off into the street, crashing into a building and bouncing off as it goes on its way. 

Annette kneels, breathing in, breathing out, trying to keep herself steady. She left her bag at the train station, left her phone somewhere in the street, and now she has nothing but her blood-slick pistol. She holds it gingerly, more like glass than metal. 

The Beast comes back in full force, its body smashing through the side of the building. 

Annette screams hoarsely, leaping to her feet and staggering back. It takes a moment for her to realize that the Beast had smashed into the building backwards, its spines splintering and breaking as it lands on its back. 

It cries out and leaps to its feet, squirming before getting hit with a blast of energy. Ice crackles and ripples around the beast, sparking against its barrier and stunning it.

Annette’s eyes light up.

_Lúin! Not just Lúin, but_ _Ingrid!_

Relief floods into Annette’s chest and she has to stop her eyes from tearing up as she stumbles away from the battle, back towards the hole she had crawled through. She scrambles down the edge of the building, sliding down a pile of destroyed concrete and debris gingerly, trying to position herself for maximum visibility.

She can hear another, familiar sound - the sound of a Barrier shattering and the scream of a Beast’s death knell. 

“Ingrid!” she shouts as she sprints into the street, weaving between flattened cars. “Felix!” She waves her arms over her head.

She rounds a corner and skids to a halt. 

Lúin has the Beast pinned down with its lance and Aegis Shield deals the killing blow, Felix driving his sword under the Beast’s mask, plunging into its open, screaming mouth. Blood sprays from the golden mask, slick and red into the street.

Annette waves her hands over her head, shouting until her voice strains and cracks.

“Ingrid!” she can’t stop tears from slipping from the corners of her eyes. Her hands shake and she drops her pistol.

Lúin turns its attention away from the Beast and freezes, dropping its lance and kneeling in the street. Felix takes up a defensive position, standing behind the Relic and planting its shield. Lúin’s cockpit hatch opens with a hiss and release of pressure. 

Ingrid climbs out of the cockpit, her hair tousled and matted, her eye wild. She waves. “Annette!” she cries out.

Annette scrambles up the side of Lúin’s kneeling frame, climbing hand over hand up the side of the Relic, her fingers digging into the metal clasps and bands of the Relic restraints. 

She finally reaches up, her weary, bloody hand grasping the slick coolness of Ingrid’s glove.

Their fingers twine together and Ingrid squeezes her hand as she hauls Annette up the side.

“Oh, Ingrid,” Annette breathes, throwing her arms around her. Ingrid embraces her back, pressing her face against the crook of Annette’s neck before Annette pulls back and cups the curve of her jaw. “Ingrid...what happened to your eye?!”

“It’s okay,” Ingrid says, gently pulling Annette’s hand to her lips. “It’s just hurt. I think.”

Annette giggles and wipes back tears.

“It’s not important right now,” Ingrid shakes her head. “We need to get you to safety,” she says before plunging both of them back into the cockpit with a splash. 

Annette nods and takes up position behind the pilot’s seat, holding tight as Ingrid settles back into the grooves. She rests her arms on the armrest and hooks herself back into the system as the cockpit hatch closes with another hiss. 

-

“Got her,” Ingrid’s voice is firm and triumphant over the radio. 

“Great,” Catherine says, resting her face in her hands. “Good work. Keep moving towards the city center.”

“Ma’am?” Cyril asks, looking up from his computer. 

Catherine breathes in and out slowly. 

“Ma’am?”

“What?” Catherine fumbles, patting her desk for her ashtray. She pulls a smoldering cigarette out and takes a slow, patient drag. 

“Where are the Beasts going?”

The command center shakes, rumbling beneath their feet. Catherine sets her pistol on her desk beside her keyboard. “They’re coming here,” she says quietly, setting her cigarette back in the ashtray and pecking at her computer. 

“They’re trying to reach Byleth, aren’t they?”

Catherine nods. “Whoever is leading them...They’re trying to stop the SEIROS project.”

“And what about us?” 

The door hisses open behind them. “You will maintain course.”

Catherine swivels her desk around, pistol already in hand. “Commander!” she breathes, lowering her pistol in disbelief.

Commander Dominic strolls through the door, seemingly unfazed by the facility’s shaking. 

“What’s going on?” Catherine asks, setting her pistol down. 

“The military is pushing back against SEIROS,” Gilbert says, standing at the command center window and clasping his hands behind his back. “Fódlan's governments would not have allowed this program pass, if the truth had come to light any earlier. Already, SEIROS’ control of the city was largely opposed.”

“What a fucking mess,” Catherine shakes her head. “Even with the Beasts, we can’t stop shooting each other. 

“I would be prepared,” Gilbert says. “They’ll be breaching the upper levels soon.”

“The Beasts or the soldiers?”

Gilbert laughs, but it's a hollow, mirthless sound. 

-

“There it is!” Annette cries, leaning forward and pointing. “There’s the Relic!”

“I see it, I see it,” Ingrid gently pushes her back. “Felix, do you have visual on the enemy Relic?”

“I do.”

“I’m going to charge it.”

“Bad idea, Ingri- aaaand she’s doing it anyways.”

“Ingrid, are you sure this is a good idea?” Annette asks, holding tight onto the pilot’s seat as Lúin leaps into the air, crashing its foot into the head of a giant Demonic Beast and knocking it down before bounding over it, charging the enemy Relic. 

Ingrid ignores the question, dropping her rifle and drawing Lúin’s lance, shouting as she charges. 

The enemy Relic stands in the street, its rifle pointed at the concrete, energy pulsing out into the road. Purple light courses from the gunbarrel, eating into the concrete and crumbling it to dust and smoking ash. 

Ingrid’s shout reaches a crescendo as she crashes her lance into the Relic, the glowing energy blade slamming into the Relic’s own barrier field.

The Relic drops its gun without hesitation and draws back, its curved and bony form shifting as it produces a hefty weapon. It swings an axe, its blade sizzling and crackling with energy as it slams into Lúin and knocks it back.

Annette shouts out as she slams into the back of the cockpit, her head sparking. 

“Hold tight!” Ingrid grits her teeth, swinging her lance again. The blade catches the enemy Relic’s axe in a shower of sparks. 

Ingrid clenches her jaw and slams the control sticks forward, trying to overpower the Relic. 

“Stop!” a voice crackles over the comms. 

Ingrid freezes. 

The enemy takes advantage of her hesitation and sweeps its legs out, knocking Lúin prone and raising its axe. Before it can bring it down, Aegis Shield slides between them, shield lifted up to block the force of the blow. 

Felix cries out as the axe smashes into him, but the shield holds. 

“Who are you!?” Annette shouts. 

“I am the Flame Emperor,” the voice comes again, warbled with static. “And it is I who will reforge the world.”

Annette and Ingrid glance at each other nervously. 

“We’re trying to establish a remote diagnostics connection,” Cyril says over the comms. “Whoever she is, we’ll at least get her hardware info.” 

“Cool,” Ingrid grunts, lashing Lúin’s legs out to kick at the Flame Emperor’s Relic, knocking it back and giving her enough space to scramble to her feet. 

The Relic charges again, slamming its shoulder into Lúin before hooking its axe against Lúin’s side. It pierces Lúin’s hull in a shower of sparks and a spray of blood. 

Felix leaps onto the Flame Emperor’s back, plunging his sword through her barrier field and into the Relic’s metal hull.

Red pours out from cracks in the bony form.

“What do we have, Cyril?” Catherine asks. 

“I can’t tell,” Cyril says, almost disappointed. “Its data is encrypted, but it’s...it’s not a Relic, that’s for sure.”

“What do you mean?!” Annette and Ingrid shout at once. 

“It doesn’t have the same organic traces,” Cyril explains. “If it is a Relic, it’s something we’ve never seen before.” 

Felix smashes his shield into its back, sending it stumbling forwards.

Ingrid drops her lance and drives Lúin’s knee into the Relic’s abdomen, catching it between two opposing blunt forces. Its metal hull cracks and screams with pressure but doesn’t shatter.

Ingrid reaches her hand out and grasps the enemy Relic’s shoulder, pulling it back. “What is this?” she shouts.

“Aymr…” the Flame Emperor’s voice is unsteady, through gritted teeth. Her voice is clearer as she shouts again. “INITIATE RAGING STORM!”

The Relic bursts into flames, its hull lighting up with a glow of energy and blasting Ingrid and Felix back into the street. Aymr picks up its rifle again and points it at the ground again, pulsing another blast of energy into the earth. 

The cement cracks, shatters, and crumbles, the ground opening into a yawning dark abyss, a sinkhole pulling in Beasts, buildings, cars, crumbling road, Lúin, Aegis Shield, and everything else dropping into blackness.


	17. Chapter 17

Lúin slams into something hard and metal, jarring Annette and Ingrid out of their matched-pitched screams of terror.

The Relic scrapes along a straight metal slope, something artificial, pyramidal. Ingrid grimaces and lashes an arm out, smashing it into the metal slope and scrambling for purchase. 

Aegis Shield lands not far behind them, its hull crashing into the slope and denting it before sliding. 

Ahead of them, deeper into the abyss, further down the slope, Aymr falls in a controlled slide. 

“Oh, no you don’t,” Ingrid mutters, reaching for her lance. She propels herself into a headfirst slide, lance out in front of herself, and before she catches Aymr, she smashes the lance through the metal slope, dropping both her and the enemy Relic with a crash to a hard, flat floor below. 

The dust settles as both Relics climb to their feet.

“Why must you insist on hounding me so?!” The Flame Emperor shouts. 

“What do you want?!”

“I must destroy SEIROS,” the Emperor says again, “starting with its monsters.” She lunges Aymr forwards and slams into Lúin, sending both of them crashing through a wall.

Annette swivels her head around the cockpit. “Ingrid!” she shouts.

“What?!” Ingrid shouts back hoarsely. “I’m right here, Annette!”

Aymr freezes. 

“What did you just say?” the Flame Emperor’s voice falters. 

Aegis Shield slams into Aymr’s back, driving it to the ground before drawing its sword. 

“FELIX, WAIT!” Annette shouts, leaning forwards and yanking Ingrid’s radio back. “Wait!”

Felix draws back, lifting his sword in preparation to strike. 

Annette swallows and presses the radio button again, her fingers shaking. “H...hello? Miss Flame Emperor?” 

“Yes?” 

_ That voice _ . 

Annette recalls a strange confrontation on the bridge. The Adrestian student with white gloves, her forearms marked with the telltale signs of piloting. 

_ That stern, guiding voice. _

“I…” Annette swallows. “I don’t know if you remember me, but I’m...I ran into you on the bridge at the Academy.”

“Annette Fantine Dominic.”

Ingrid glances at Annette. 

“Right. I...I’d like to know your name, too.”

Aymr’s frame revs to life as it pushes itself up. “My name is Edelgard,” the Flame Emperor says. “I don’t wish to kill you, if I don’t have to.”

Felix scoffs. “It’s not like you’re in the best position to negotiate.”

“Children?” Catherine’s voice cuts over the comms, loudly. “This is a public channel. Whatever you’re going to do, do it fast. SEIROS’ upper armor plating was just breached.”

“Ah, I think that was me,” Ingrid says. “Sorry.”

“You’re  _ in _ SEIROS?” Catherine asks. She lets out a frustrated sigh. “Listen, Crusher is geared up and ready to go. Drop Annette off somewhere so she can gear up.”

“What about Byleth?” 

“I don’t know where they are,” Catherine says. “But we can’t have much time.” 

-

Annette scrambles through the twisted and broken halls of SEIROS’ damaged facility as fast as her legs allow. The power has been cut, the only illumination coming from flashing red emergency lights, bathing the hallways in a sickly scarlet as she runs through the metal maze.

She almost trips over the first set of bodies she finds - SEIROS guards, blood pooling around them. In the distance, she can hear muted gunfire.

_ I hope Catherine is alright _ . 

She steps around the bodies and continues her climb downwards, towards the locker room, each step bringing her closer and closer to the sounds of shouting, gunfire, sparks, the smell of burning metal and blood. 

She stops, gasping for breath, resting against a corner for only a second before a soldier rounds the far end of the hallway. The soldier lifts his gun and fires, muzzle-flash illuminating the hallway between pulses of red light. Annette drops to her stomach and crawls, fumbling desperately, wishing she hadn’t been so klutzy as to drop her pistol. 

She looks up just in time to see another muzzle flash, and the soldier drops to the ground as dark blood splatters the wall behind him.

“Run!” a familiar voice calls out.

“Sh-Shamir!” Annette climbs to her feet, gasping. 

Shamir, one hand on her stomach, the other holding a pistol, nods towards Annette. Her labcoat is soaked through in blood. “Go,” she says again. “I’ll hold them off.”

“Are you going to be okay?” 

Shamir laughs. “Good question.”

Annette can hear more gunfire as she slides open the door to the locker room, pulling off her clothes before she even reaches her locker. She hastily pulls on her plugsuit and adjusts the gauntlets. 

She stares at the pistol sitting in its holster at the bottom of her locker. She grimaces and picks it up before slamming the door open with her shoulder and running back into the hallway.

No time for decontamination. No time for anything, not even thinking. She skids around a corner and fumbles, looking for -  _ Oh, dammit! _ Her ID card!

She slams her fists against the command center door, shouting.

“Catherine! Catherine, it’s me, let me in!”

The door slides open with a hiss. 

“Shamir is out there, somewhere,” Annette breathes, resting on her knees. “She’s hurt.”

“She shouldn’t even be  _ walking _ ,” Catherine curses, shaking her head. “Cyril, can you run Crusher’s launch sequence?”

“Yes, ma’am,” Cyril nods. 

“C-Catherine, wait!” Annette says, reaching out her hand to snag Catherine’s before she goes. “I...I wanted to say-”

“Save it,” Catherine says, pulling Annette into a quick embrace. “I’ll see you again.”

Annette blinks back tears and nods as Catherine pushes her away. 

She doesn’t realize her father is watching from the command center window until she’s already out in the docks. She looks up at him, and he stares back, his face stern, expressionless. 

_ This is not for you _ , Annette thinks.

Slipping into Crusher is warm, comforting. Something calming in the face of everything else, all the fear and violence and blood. Here, she is safe. Here, she belongs, in some strange sense. She eases back into the cockpit seat and breathes in, breathes out. Lets the thick liquid fill her lungs, equalizing her with her surroundings. 

She takes a deep breath and slots her arms into the armrests. 

Jolts of pain spark through her body. She can feel the slick, cold prick of needles piercing the skin of her wrist and watches as the wires from her suit flush red. 

_ Crest confirmed. Pilot Dominic validated _ .

-

“Glad to hear your voice again, Annette,” Ingrid smiles, tension releasing from her shoulders as she relaxes back. 

“I wouldn’t exactly say it’s good to be back,” she says wryly. “What’s the plan?”

“Where’s the First pilot?” Edelgard asks.

Annette grits her teeth and jams her control sticks into place. “Nabatea.”

“What?” Ingrid asks.

“It’s the lowest level of the SEIROS facility,” Annette explains. “It’s the heart of the whole project.” 

“I’m uploading the facility schematics now,” Cyril says. “You’ll see them in your display. Ordinarily, SOTHIS forbids access, but SOTHIS seems a little bit preoccupied at the moment.” 

“Are those gunshots I hear?” Ingrid asks. “Cyril, are you okay?”

“Yeah, it’s fine. The blast doors should hold against most conventional weaponry.”

“WHAT?!” Ingrid shouts. 

“It’s soldiers,” Annette replies. “Okay, it looks like there’s a service elevator not too far away.”

“Great,” Felix sighs. “Because we’ve had so much luck with elevators.”

“If you have any better ideas, I’m all ears,” Ingrid says, picking up her lance. 

“The service elevator - hold on a second,” Cyril pauses. There’s the sound of gunshots over the comms. “It’s a freight funicular that was used to carry construction supplies. That should get you to sublevel 3.” 

“And then what?” 

“We’ll play it by ear,” Ingrid says, leading them towards the funicular platform. 

The facility rumbles and shakes, rocked by explosions and earthquakes as they navigate the crumbling ruins. Rocks grinds against metal and metal snaps, collapsing tunnels and twisting pathways in showers of sparks. Fires burn in dark corners of the facility, the whole place coming apart at the metal seams. 

“What’s going on out there?”

“It’s the Beasts,” Edelgard says gravely. “They’re trying to get through the facility.”

“Could have just taken the elevator,” Annette says, gesturing. “It’s right through the metal gate there.”

Aymr reaches out, grasping the metal gate and peeling it back with a screech, and the four Relics board the freight funicular. 

“Sending it down now,” Cyril says. “You’ll be passing out of radio range before you hit sublevel 1, so you’re on your own. Good luck.”

“You too,” Ingrid says as the funicular rumbles to life. 

It’s an old and rickety thing, a concrete platform that slides down diagonal rails, descending into an endless tunnel of rock into the mountain. With each shake of the earth, the rails grind and rattle, threatening to snap under the weight of the Relics. 

Aymr tilts its head down.

“How old is this?” Edelgard asks.

Felix looks at Annette, looks at Ingrid, who shrugs.

“As old as any of the facilities, I’d guess,” Ingrid shrugs. “We’re coming up on the sublevels now.”

The elevator screeches as it exits the rock tunnel and plunges into pure black void, the only lights flickering orange bars spaced evenly down the tracks, descending infinitely. 

“This is where we were before,” Ingrid says. “The sublevel elevators.”

Out of the darkness, forms take shape - metal scaffolding, half-finished concrete structures. Above them, plunging from the upper edge of the cavern, is the bottom half of a massive octahedral shape, a metal pyramid jutting downwards, a thin elevator shaft protruding from the bottom point.

The metal octahedron shakes, pieces of the facility falling off in showers of sparks and bursts of flame. With each brief pulse of light, shapes are illuminated - Demonic Beasts, falling into the darkness, squirming and howling, some taking flight, all tumbling down with the concrete and the steel and the ruins. 

And then the bottom of the cavern comes into view - the sea of dark red blood, the white, tangled mountain frame, and above it, the towering form of the Sword of the Creator, its abyssal face seeming to drink in the darkness around it. 

Annette closes her eyes and swallows. 

“There it is,” Felix says. 

“The First pilot will be down there somewhere,” Edelgard says, a rhetorical question more than anything. 

The Sword’s vertebrae dangle lifelessly beneath it. If something is inside the massive Relic, it isn’t moving. 

The elevator shakes and screeches. A chunk of rock smashes the tracks, splintering it into pieces and sending the platform into the void. The ruined metal scaffolding crashes into the red water with a thick splash, followed by the four Relics.

Annette is the first to her feet, lifting Crusher’s hands and wiping the film of bloody red from her viewscreens. 

Edelgard is sprinting as soon as Aymr is up, her Relic splashing with each step as it runs towards the mountain of tangled bones. With each heavy footstep, Aymr sinks lower - it’s like walking in snow, the weight of the Relic crushing bones to powder beneath it, making it a struggle to ascend the hill towards the Sword.

But she persists, as they all do.

The yawning void of the Sword’s face, the gaping hole, calls to them all. It seems to suck them in like a vortex, pulling in light, pulling in darkness, drawing all of them closer. 

Lúin scrambles up the hill, lightest on its feet of all of the Relics, Ingrid stopping to help pull Crusher up when it slips and falls. 

Around them, scrambling up the bones, streaked with blood, the Demonic Beasts climb the hill, too. Everything, Relic and Beast alike, drawn to the Sword. 

Annette freezes, reaching a hand out, stopping Lúin. “Wait.”

“Wait?!” Edelgard shouts, forging ahead. “We don’t have time to-”

The whole chamber shakes and shudders, a landslide of bones and beasts tumbling down towards the bloody sea. 

The Sword of the Creator is moving. 

Its arms move slowly, almost imperceptibly at first. The fingers twitch, and then curl, and then the arm pulls up - tendons twisting and pulling, muscles contracting.

“We’re too late,” Ingrid breathes. 

The arms grasp the hilt of the sword plunged through the Relic’s chest, pinning it down. 

“No!” Edelgard screams, Aymr slipping and stumbling as she climbs towards the Sword, hand reached out in desperation. “No!” 

Inch by inch, the sword is pulled from the Relic’s chest, blade smeared in blood, pried loose like a rusty nail. The fists tighten and pulls, harder, until the blade comes loose.

Everything is silent as the sword drops, crashing into the pile of bones, shattering them into dust as it lands with a dull, heavy thud. The Relic’s arms drape down again, lifeless.

There is stillness, first. Then, almost imperceptible motion - bubbling flesh, tendons and sinew bursting out of the hollow chest cavity. The Relic fills itself in, pouring down the mountain of bones as blood, and then tissue, and then bone, twisting and crackling as gore and viscera twist themselves around the exposed spine, filling in gaps, knitting bones together, tying flesh - a body spilling out onto the mountainside. 

The Sword of the Creator’s chest moves - life, breath, its head still slumped forward as the body forms, soaking up the blood-red sea, absorbing bones in disgusting ripples of flesh and energy. Where it was a monster, before, where it was bones and thin sallow skin and motionless grey death, it forms into something different. A humanoid form, not monstrous but beautiful, light coursing along its curves. 

The being pulses with brilliant white light, growing in size as its body finishes knitting itself together - it curves forward, wings protruding from its back, glowing sets of wings that drape around it as it sits atop the pile of bones. 

It’s a form that feels almost familiar, as the pilots stare up at it. 

The void of the Sword’s face is gone, replaced with glowing angelic features, unspecified even as they are beautiful, even as pale green hair tumbles around its face. 

Sothis stands, face tilted upwards, wide, green eyes gazing heavensward. 


	18. Chapter 18

The sky above Garreg Mach is unnaturally dark. Clouds swirl above, a tempest of black storms, and through gaps in the clouds, the sky is a murky blood-red. 

The city splits apart, an earthquake rending a gash in the earth, buildings and road crumbling away into the abyss of blackness below. The whole mountain seems to shift, pulling itself apart, buildings toppling into one another, buildings collapsing under the strain of motion and violence. 

Sothis towers among the ruins, angelic and awesome and terrible in her splendor, her wings splayed behind her, draping down to the earth. She stands above the city, a being of pure light, wide eyes, tangled pale-green hair. 

Waves of energy ripple out from her form, tossing tanks and missile batteries and military trucks like playthings, dashing them against the sides of buildings. Demonic Beasts, too, pale against her form, their leathery skin decaying, their bodies writhing and howling as they dissolve, pooling thick and red in the streets, pouring down the cracks in the roads, dripping like rain down the sides of destroyed buildings.

The comms channel crackles with static, electromagnetic ripples from Sothis garbling voices into static, merging voices together. Even over the senseless noise, Edelgard’s voice is clear.

She roars, her voice angry, tinged with desperation, as Aymr charges, axe raised high. 

She leaps forwards, smashing against Sothis’ form, swinging her axe at her ankle. The energy blade hits Sothis’ glowing flesh and sinks in, the blade slipping in easily. 

Edelgard growls again and yanks the axe out, ripping it from Sothis’ flesh, exposing tender red and bone beneath. As soon as the axe is pulled free, the skin knits itself back together, flowing back into a unified whole.

Edelgard grits her teeth and lunges again, but before her weapon can connect, Sothis leans down, swiping a clawed hand down. Her open palm crashes against Aymr, sending it skittering across the road and through the side of a building.

“EDELGARD!” Annette shouts, pressing Crusher’s back against a building, taking cover as she readies her rifle. “Edelgard, can you read me?”

Edelgard grunts and pushes her Relic up and out of the ruins. “I’m...I’m fine.”

“What was that?” Ingrid asks, Lúin kneeling at Crusher’s side. “Your axe didn’t even seem to hurt her.”

“I don’t know,” Edelgard admits. 

“What’s she doing?” Annette asks, leaning out and drawing her rifle, looking through the scope. 

“She’s cleansing the world,” Edelgard says plainly, as if the answer were simple. 

“Cleansing the world…” Ingrid repeats incredulously. “Of people?”

“Of everything. A fresh start.” Aymr’s footsteps are heavy as she approaches. “If we weren’t in these Relics, we’d be like the beasts.”

Aegis Shield kneels beside them, shield planted in the concrete, knees submerged in the thick red of dissolved life. He presses Aegis’ palm into the liquid. “We’d be this shit?”

“Something like that.”

“Okay,” Ingrid says, standing up. “Here’s the plan. Annette, I’m going to charge out and hit her with Fimbulvetr - maybe the ice will stop her from moving. Then you’ll have the chance to line up a shot.” Ingrid points at Felix. “Protect Annette.” She points at Edelgard. “Edelgard, you’re with me.”

“Okay,” Annette breathes. Felix nods. Edelgard says nothing.

“On three.” Ingrid’s voice is steady even as her Relic’s hands shake. “Three. Two.” 

The building they’re crouched behind explodes in a shower of concrete and glass, shattered by Sothis’ claws. 

“Go!” Ingrid shouts hoarsely, leaping into action. Lúin and Aymr charge, weaving between buildings as they approach Sothis’ body. Ingrid shoves the control sticks forward, guiding Lúin forwards and up a collapsed building, its side forming a ramp as it leans against another. 

“Ready to fire!” Annette says over the radio. Crusher hangs back, resting the barrel of Abraxas on Felix’s shield. 

Ingrid roars as she pushes Lúin off the top of the building, leaping into the air and drawing her rifle. She pulses out a blast of light at Sothis’ legs, ice rippling outwards and coalescing around Sothis. 

Aymr, kneeling at the top of the collapsed building ramp, raises her own rifle. 

“Firing!” Annette shouts. Energy pulses out from the end of her rifle’s barrel, a blast of light that hits Sothis’ legs. There is a single beat, and then an explosion. Light billows out from Sothis’ legs, Ingrid’s ice shattering to pieces as the whole city block erupts into flames and motion.

Edelgard keeps her rifle raised up, waiting for her chance.

Sothis leans down again, swiping at Lúin, and Edelgard takes a shot.

Her rifle pulses, purple energy slamming into Sothis’ face and blasting her back, away, giving Lúin time to scramble away. 

“Shit,” Edelgard says, lowering her rifle. “It doesn’t look like it even hurt her.” 

Cyril’s voice is faint, almost gone in the warble of static and crackling electricity. “Hey, uh, other Relic pilot? What weapon did you just fire?”

“This is Hades,” Edelgard explains, raising her rifle again. “It’s an Agarthan weapon.”

“Well, it might as well be a water gun against that thing,” Cyril says. “Energy readings are off the charts - the computer won’t even process the data.”

“Shit,” Felix says, standing up and bracing Aegis against his shield. “Annette, behind me!” 

Energy pulses out from Sothis again, explosions wracking the city, collapsing what buildings still stand. Howls down the corridors of the city streets, kicking up debris and washing the bloody mire against the sides of buildings in waves. 

Red waves crash over Aegis Shield, splashing against Crusher. 

“We need to get to higher ground,” Annette says, wiping the thick liquid from her viewports. “Quick, onto the buildings!” 

Felix and Annette scramble up the platforms of collapsed buildings, pulling themselves up and out of the red muck and giving them space to set up again, Felix providing cover while Annette can aim and fire off shots. 

Her blasts glance harmlessly off Sothis’ body, any damage done immediately reconfigured and reconstructed by the body forming itself. 

“This isn’t working!” she shouts, head woozy. “I...I need to take a break…”

“Get somewhere safe to rest, Annette!” Ingrid shouts. “You can’t keep firing your gun like that!” Ingrid’s comms cut out as she lunges, dropping her gun and slicing her lance through the back of Sothis’ leg, the orange energy blade sizzling as it slices through her back tendon. 

Sothis lashes a leg out, her foot knocking Lúin back and sending Ingrid splashing into the muck. “C-Cyril!” she shouts. “Can I get a situation report?” 

“We’ve got some problems on our end,” Cyril says. “Give me a minute!”

-

Cyril picks up the pistol sitting next to his computer and swivels his chair around, pointing the gun at the entrance to the command center. The door hisses open.

“Wait, don’t shoot!” Catherine shouts, throwing one hand up. Her other arm is wrapped around Shamir’s shoulders, helping her limp into the room.

“God, what happened to you two?” Cyril asks. 

“Fódlan military has finally had it with SEIROS, it seems,” Catherine says, shutting the door and resting Shamir against the wall. She stands by the door’s control lock and pulls out her gun, pulsing gunshots into the panel.

The reports are deafening in the enclosed command center.

“Ma’am?” Cyril scrambles from his desk and skids to his knees at Shamir’s side, helping prop her up. “Ma’am, are you okay?”

“Y-yeah,” Shamir grunts, slipping one hand under her bloodied labcoat. She coughs and lurches forwards into Cyril’s arms. 

“Cyril, can you take care of her?” 

“Yeah, of course,” Cyril says, tilting Shamir’s head back. 

“Great,” Catherine slides into her desk chair and taps the keyboard as she gazes out the command center window. 

The docks are in ruins - the hole in the roof of the cavern reveals the dark, tumultuous sky beyond, and thick red liquid drips from the edges, splashing against the cold steel floor of the docks. Even now, the walls shake and shudder. There is a sound like hammers - smashing against the walls, hitting them inwards, rending metal. Through gaps, through gashes in the walls, Catherine can see the claws of beasts, hurling themselves again and again at the walls. She takes a deep breath.

“Commander Dominic?” she asks. “What are your orders?” 

Gilbert still stands at the window, his hands clasped behind his back, his gaze unbroken as he gazes at the carnage and ruin beyond. 

“Commander Dominic,” Catherine says, louder. She furrows her brow. She slips out of her chair and stands at the commander’s side. 

Gilbert stares, unblinking.

Catherine turns and gazes out the window, too. Now Beasts pierce the walls, claws prying and scrabbling at the seams, screws popping and metal screeching. “Did you know?” she says quietly. 

“Does it matter?”

Catherine’s surprised by the answer. “No,” she says. “I suppose not.” 

The command center shakes, the glass threatening to shatter as rocks and debris tumble into the docks. The wall bulges open and then splits down the center, metal rending as Beasts pour through - writhing and squirming, metal masks clanking against each other, against the floor as the Beasts tear through metal and concrete and wire, throwing themselves up against the command center window with dull thuds.

The first Beast, a winged creature, slams against the window, again. And again. On the third blow, the window cracks, just a little. 

Catherine swallows. “Commander?” 

“Ma’am!” Cyril shouts, dragging Shamir across the floor towards the banks of computers. She’s unconscious, now, and blood pools and smears underneath her. 

Another Beast smashes against the window and the crack spiderwebs further. Gilbert stands, motionless, somber. 

Catherine scrambles back, kneeling and helping Cyril drag Shamir, taking cover under the desk. Catherine slides back until she’s pressed against the back of the desk, cradling Shamir gently. 

“Hey,” Shamir says weakly, opening her eyes. Blood trickles from her forehead down the side of her face. “Partner.”

“Hey,” Catherine says quietly, dropping her head to press her forehead against Shamir’s. The desk shakes and they can hear the crack and splinter of glass. 

“This is it, huh,” Cyril says, glancing nervously out of their hiding place. Shamir’s pistol rests in his lap. 

Catherine doesn’t respond, too busy pressing her lips to Shamir’s forehead, whispering into her delirious ears.

There’s a slam, a crack, and a shatter. Howls and shrieks, a grinding of metal, and blood trickling from the broken window, pooling on the floor of the command center.

-

“Cyril?! Catherine?!” Ingrid’s voice is warbled through a filter of static. She screams, her voice overmodulating the comms and coming out like an electronic crackle as Lúin is send flying, smashing through a building and out the other side before finally coming to a stop midway through an apartment complex. She grits her teeth and pushes herself up. “C-Catherine?” she asks again. “Catherine, do you read?”

“I’m getting nothing,” Annette confirms. “Local comms are up but nothing else is getting out.”

“Nothing here, either,” Edelgard says. 

Annette’s rifle rests across a rooftop. She had given it up, knowing that firing it even once more would risk her blacking out. And without Cyril operating her targeting systems, any shot would have to be manually aimed, and she doesn’t trust her trembling hands. 

Aegis Shield has taken point, Felix alternatively blocking Sothis’ energy pulsing with his shield before following up, slashing at her legs with his sword. It, too, is useless, more effective in tiring him out than in damaging the monster before them. 

Annette, in her cockpit, stares at her shaking hands. Everything is numb, muted, her vision spotting from blood loss. Everything feels so far away, even the voices of the other pilots. 

Ingrid, in her cockpit, slumps her head down, eyes closed. She takes a shaking breath. “I...I don’t know what to do.”

Annette blinks back tears. “Ingrid, we can’t...we can’t give up…”

“Then what do we do?!” Ingrid’s voice cracks as she shouts, her ragged breathes audible over the radio, each sniffle and whimper. “Catherine…oh, god, what do we do?”

Felix says nothing, his radio crackling with static, the only noise a sort of low growl, grunts as he blocks, parries, slices his sword again and again. He slips and Aegis Shield falls, sliding down the side of a building and plunging into the thick red soup. 

“Felix!” Ingrid and Annette cry out in unison. 

“I’ll-” Annette pushes Crusher to its feet, her steps unsteady and wobbling as she guides it towards Felix. “I’ll grab him-”

There’s a burst, a splash of red water against the sides of the buildings, and Aegis Shield is flung from the water. Annette’s eyes grow wide as she focuses in on the cause - Aymr, its hand grasped on Aegis Shield, hauling it up and throwing it to safety. Felix cries out as his Relic smashes through the top of a building and skids to a smoking halt beside Lúin.

Aymr stands above them, rifle resting on its shoulders.

“Get it together!” Edelgard barks. “All three of you, snap out of it!” 

Ingrid sits upright, blinking in surprise. 

“The only way we’re going to get through this is if we work together. Do you understand me?” 

“I don’t…” Annette reaches up to wipe tears away. “I…”

“Do you understand me, yes or no?” 

“Yes,” Ingrid says solemnly.

“Yes,” Annette says at last.

“What’s the plan, then?” Felix asks. 

“Her Crest Stone is in her torso,” Edelgard lowers her rifle. “No wonder attacking the legs hasn’t been working.” 

“How do you know?” Felix interrupts. 

“I…” Edelgard falters. “I...Byleth and I were close. It enabled me to learn things about them and their crest.” 

“That’s not important,” Ingrid says. “What’s important is stopping Sothis.”

“Yes,” Edelgard agrees. 

“So is...is Professor Byleth still in there, somewhere?” Annette asks quietly, tilting her gaze towards Sothis’ massive form. 

“Her Crest Stone will be behind her regenerating dragonskin and likely her ribcage,” Edelgard continues, heedless of Annette’s question. “We’ll need to do enough damage to break through both layers before she can regenerate.”

“That’s assuming we can even break her Crest Stone,” Felix interjects. 

Edelgard’s sigh is audible over the radio. “First things first, though - we need to bring her down to our level. If we concentrate all of our attacks-” Before Edelgard can finish speaking, flame bubbles up between them before snapping, an explosion scattering them apart. 

“Shit!” Ingrid mutters, pulling Lúin up out of a collapsed building. “Everybody okay?”

“We need to move,” Edelgard says, helping pull Crusher up. “All of you, try to keep moving until we can get into position. I want to hit her chest with everything we’ve got.” 

“What about Felix?” Annette asks, rolling her shoulders. “He doesn’t have any ranged weapons.”

Aymr turns. “Felix, I want you to keep her attention locked on you. Can you do that?” 

“I can try.” 

“You need to do better than that,” Edelgard says, lifting her rifle. “Annette, Ingrid, are you ready?”

Annette takes low, shallow breathes, trying to steel herself before responding. “Yes,” she says firmly. She pushes forwards on the control sticks, moving into step with Lúin, both of them taking up position behind Aymr. 

Ahead of them, Felix keeps his shield raised and his sword sheathed, weaving between and across buildings. 

Sothis drops her head and parts her jaw. A bubble of energy forms in front of her open mouth, sizzling and crackling with energy before bursting out, a beam slicing across the city, dropping buildings in a shower of dust and debris. Felix shoves his Relic forwards, dropping and sliding with his shield braced in front of him. The energy hits the shield and splashes against it, light and sparks dripping over the edges. 

“Felix!” Ingrid shouts.

“I’m okay,” Felix grunts. 

“Annette, Ingrid, get into position!” Edelgard shouts. “She’s about to fire again!” 

Annette hops over a ridge formed by a collapsed office building, sliding down it in a shower of glass before skidding to a halt and raising her rifle. 

“Annette,” Ingrid’s voice is calm. “I’ve switched to private comms.”

“Are you okay?” Annette asks, aligning Abraxas’ scope. 

“Are you sure you’re okay to keep shooting that weapon?” 

“I…” Annette swallows. Her vision stopped spotting, but her head feels heavy, like a stuffy headcold is clouding her thoughts. “I don’t have a choice.”

“You don’t need to do this,” Ingrid says. “It can just be Edelgard and I.”

“N...no,” Annette shakes her head. “I’m not running away. Not anymore.”

Edelgard’s voice crackles to life. “I’m in position. Are you ready?” 

“Yes,” Ingrid says stiffly. 

“Y...yeah,” Annette says, taking in a deep breath. 

“Felix, you’re up.”

Felix swings up and out from between two buildings, darting between Sothis’ legs and drawing his sword to slash at her feet. Blood pools beneath her feet as she bends down, again, swiping at him, her claws too slow to match the pace of his Relic as he hurdles over buildings. 

She opens her mouth again. 

“Ready…” Edelgard breathes. 

Annette closes her eyes, taking a deep breath. When she opens her eyes, the glowing, angelic frame is squarely in her digital sights. She rests her Relic’s finger on the trigger of her rifle. 

“Any time now!” Felix shouts. 

Energy crackles and forms in front of Sothis’ mouth. 

“FIRE!” Edelgard shouts.

Annette pulls the trigger. 

Three beams of light fire out, intersecting at Sothis’s torso. Her skin bubbles and then bursts, white flesh falling in tatters, blood spraying out, a crimson fountain pouring from the smoking hole in her chest. Sothis throws her head back and howls, her voice inhuman and shrieking, sound alone enough to shatter glass and crumble concrete around her. 

Annette lowers her rifle and lifts her head. “We got her!” 

Sothis moves slowly, swaying, the spray of blood weakening, and in the gaps of flesh Annette can see it - a Crest Stone, a bone-white sphere in the monster’s chest, etched with glowing lines. A beating heart, visible for just moments before Sothis’ skin bubbles again, knitting itself over. 

“Shit!” Ingrid snaps. 

“I saw it!” Annette shouts. “I saw her Crest Stone!” 

“That’s not good enough,” Edelgard says, lifting her rifle. 

“What do we do?!” Annette asks. 

“I...I don’t…” Edelgard falters, for the first time since Annette had met her. “I…”

Felix circles around, splashing his Relic through the city streets and regrouping. 

“I know,” Ingrid says, standing up and dropping her rifle with a clatter to the ground. “I can…” she leans back in her seat and stares at her hands. “I can awaken Lúin. Like what happened before, but...but I can do it on purpose, this time.”

“Awaken…?” Edelgard’s voice trails off. 

“No!” Annette shouts. “Ingrid, it almost killed you last time!” 

“Do you even know  _ how _ to?” Felix snaps. 

“I...I think so,” Ingrid says, definitely. “Last time it was awakened by a near-death state...If Lúin awakens, then its wings form...I can fly up there and fight her on her own ground. It’s the only way.”

“It’s NOT the only way!” Annette cries. “We can figure this out!” Her voice cracks and splinters. “I...Ingrid, I can’t...I can’t lose you…”

“I’m sorry, Annette.” 

“No,” Edelgard says flatly. “I refuse to let another one of those beings come into existence.”

“Ingrid?” Annette shouts. “Ingrid!” She flips her comms switches frantically. “She turned off her radio!” Panic sinks into her bones.

Lúin stands still, slumped over as its pilot does something inside. 

“Ingrid…” Annette blinks back tears. “Please…” She can’t stop herself. It’s shameful, maybe, to cry when so much is at stake. She sniffles and manages to choke out words. “I...I can’t lose you, Ingrid…” she lifts her hand up to wipe her face. “I can’t. I...I can’t.” 

Ingrid’s radio crackles back on. “Annette…”

“We don’t have time for this!” Felix snaps. “Listen. Someone can use my shield like a platform. I can help boost them up, and then…” 

“Then they can what, get one good strike in before falling back to the ground?” Ingrid says. 

“What if we timed it right,” Edelgard says, gears turning in her head. “Ingrid and I fire our rifles and try to blow open her chest again, and Felix can launch Annette up to strike at her Crest.” 

“That’s a long-shot,” Felix says doubtfully. 

“Can you do it?” 

“Yes,” Ingrid says. “We can do it.”

“I don’t...I…” Annette’s voice trails off. “I don’t know...”

Lúin rests its hand on Crusher’s shoulder. “Annette, if you can’t do it, we can…”

_ Because I can, when no one else can. _

Annette clenches her fists around her control stick. “I can do it.” 

-

The sky above Garreg Mach is dark and tumultuous, black clouds swirling above the black void of its summit, the crater into which the city has tumbled and the blood of beasts and men has surged, a murky sea of red washing against the buildings. 

Sothis’ wings have split, countless pairs draping down and sloshing through the sea, her feet planted, her head tilted skywards.

The Relics are silent as they move through the city, rifles down. Aegis Shield leads the column of motion, shield raised, mobile cover as Annette readies herself behind him. 

She breathes in, breathes out, focusing all of her attention on her hands. An anchor point, something solid, something  _ hers _ . Not her shared form, not her synchronicity with Crusher, but her own two hands, clutching her control sticks. 

Edelgard’s voice breaks her concentration. “Ingrid, with me.” 

Aymr and Lúin break off from the column, separating and splitting off in two separate directions, their rifles lowered. 

Annette follows Felix as they approach Sothis’ glowing form. 

“We’re only going to get one shot at this,” Edelgard says. “I can’t imagine Sothis will fall for the same trick twice.” 

“Not to mention Annette screwing up could get her obliterated,” Felix says.

“Thanks for the vote of confidence, Felix,” Annette says.

“In position now,” Ingrid reports. 

Felix raises his shield as the two Relics emerge from cover. 

“Annette.”

Annette makes a noncommittal noise. 

“You can do this, Annette.” 

“T...thank you, Felix,” Annette says quietly. 

Sothis’ form is massive, terrible and awesome, her wings splayed out to full width, stretching the length of the ruined city. She raises her hands to the sky, and the clouds swirl, crackling and roiling, parting in a circle to reveal the red sky beyond. 

“Alright, time to get her attention,” Felix says, slipping his shield onto his Relic’s back and drawing his sword. “Annette, now!” 

Felix and Annette weave in tandem, circling around Sothis’ legs, slashing at her with their weapons. Felix’s sword slices through her tendons and Annette’s hammer smashes into where her ankle bones would likely be, were she human. 

Both of their weapons glance off harmlessly in a shower of blood and sparks, but it’s enough to draw Sothis’ attention. 

Edelgard’s voice is breathy, almost excited. “Ingrid, ready to fire?”

“Ready when you are.”

Felix pushes Aegis Shield to his knees and drops his sword, the energy blade shutting off as it splashes into the muck. He draws his shield and holds it up above his head. “Ready.”

Annette holsters her hammer and clenches her fists. She can feel the weight of the rifle on her back, the rifle that’s nearly useless to her now. 

Edelgard gives the count. “Three.”

Sothis turns, her wings twitching to life, raising up as if to beat the air.

“Two.”

Sothis leans, hands flexing, sharp claws protruding from her fingers. 

“FIRE!” 

Two beams of light pierce Sothis’ chest.

“GO!” Felix shouts hoarsely. 

Annette jams her control sticks forward and breaks into a sprint. She mantles up Aegis Shield’s side and braces herself, balancing on the shield and using her momentum to leap up, as high and hard as her legs will propel her. 

Aegis Shield roars to life at the same time, metal groaning and cracking under the strain of lifting a Relic, but Felix roars and thrusts his shield upwards, boosting Annette into the sky. 

The twin beams of light form an X on Sothis’ form, purple and blue light clashing in a spray of sparks and energy. Blood sprays like a fountain, gushing down her body and flooding the streets. 

Crusher flies upwards, smashing through the bloodfall with a splash, Annette’s arms - Crusher’s arms - flailing wildly as she reaches, grasping for purchase, her hands bloodslick, her viewports smeared with opaque red. 

She screams, grasping out for anything solid to grasp onto. Her hands push through coils of tender flesh, blood, sinew, and she grasps it - a solid core of warm bone. She rips with all of her might, pulling the Crest Stone from Sothis’ chest in a splatter of blood. 

She screams until her voice is hoarse, her throat raw, pain coursing through her, energy from the Crest Stone into Crusher, crackling over her arms like electricity, like fire burning her skin. Pain, harsh enough to pulse her skull, harsh enough to spot her vision, enough to shake her teeth in her jaw, but she holds on, long enough to pull the Crest stone free. 

“FIRE!” Edelgard commands. 

“We could hit Annette!” Ingrid protests. 

Annette’s hands slip, bloodslick, numbed and pained and exhausted, and she falls towards the city. 

“ANNETTE!” Ingrid shouts, her voice piercing in Annette’s ears. 

A beam of energy slices past Crusher’s falling frame, and then another, twin beams intersecting the Crest again. Energy ripples and bubbles, cracking its surface.

Annette grits her teeth and fumbles for her rifle. Without even thinking, without even aligning the scope, she raises it and pulls the trigger.

A third beam of light, white and shimmering, pierces through the Crest. 

Annette’s world is frozen still, energy and light and blood colliding, her head pulsing, her hands blasted back from the kickback of her rifle. 

The Crest Stone bursts, an arc of flame and energy bursting out from it. The explosion collides with Sothis’ slumped frame and knocks her back, flaying the skin from her bones in a glow of heat and fire, exposing the skeleton frame that Annette had seen so long ago, pierced by the sword in the depths of SEIROS. 

And then everything explodes. 

Crusher’s viewports sizzle and flicker before shutting off. The Relic hits the ground and Annette’s head cracks against the back of the cockpit, and everything goes dark. 

-

The first thing Annette sees is light.

Fuzzy, white, a single square of it in the darkness.

She lifts her hand, trying to blink, trying to focus, but her hand is fuzzy, too. She can see her plugsuit glove, and a body beyond. A silhouette obscures the white box of light.

There are voices, too. Loud, frantic. 

The sound of ocean waves, tides crashing against the shore. 

Everything hurts. 

There’s a gentle firmness to the hand that grasps Annette’s, sturdiness and comfort in the way arms are draped around her, hauling her up and out of her empty cockpit, past frayed and sparking wires, shattered screens, red gunk dripping from seams in the walls.

The second thing Annette sees is Ingrid’s face. 

Her hair is tangled and stained, matted to her forehead, covering her eye that isn’t already obscured by an eyepatch. In the light, she’s never looked so beautiful.

Annette’s breath catches in her throat. Her heart pounds in her chest, each beat aching but victorious. She is alive. 

Ingrid cradles Annette’s body against her, tears staining her cheeks as she presses her lips to the top of Annette’s head, to her forehead, her nose, her cheek. 

She’s saying something, but Annette can’t hear her.

Annette reaches up with her numb and broken hands and grasps the back of Ingrid’s head, pulling her into a deep, desperate kiss. Everything comes out, then - between their lips, between the taste of blood and sweat and grease and despair, Annette forces the love in her chest to spill outwards, to flow into Ingrid’s body with all the warmth and hope and lightness she can muster.

Ingrid kisses her back, harder, desperate and thankful all at once, kissing her again, and again, until Annette winces and pushes her back, groaning.

“Ah, sorry,” Ingrid mutters, blushing and tucking her face against her shoulder. 

“It’s… ah,” Annette winces and presses a hand to her chest. “It’s...okay,” she manages to say. She catches Ingrid’s chin and tugs her down into another, gentler kiss. “You’re worth a little hurt.” 

Ingrid laughs, her voice raw and her chest aching, and she coughs between laughing fits as she cradles Annette against her. 

Annette rests her chin on Ingrid’s shoulder and stares out at the city. 

Everything is in ruins - the bloodred sea is higher, now, lapping against collapsed buildings jutting up from the water like stalwart soldiers, like colossal ancient ruins, collapsed and tangled and twisted, layered with red-soaked radio towers and wires and broken city jutting up from the sea. 

Crusher is kneeling in the shallows, water lapping around its body - the whole Relic is cracked, its metal bracing shattered and crumbling, red dripping in thick gobs from every low angle. The other Relics, too, seem to be in similar shape - broken, crumbling, bleeding. 

Felix is sitting on his own Relic, feet dangling above the water. 

The sky ahead glows, blue and set with stars twinkling in the dark, an unnatural light cast down on the city. 

Beyond the skyline, Sothis, too, kneels - her body is gone, flesh eaten from bone, loose vertebrae hanging down, more like a statue than a living thing. Her head sits in the water, wide eyes vacant, staring, deadened, pale lips forever motionless. 

Between the city and the sea, there is a white beach - the highest land in the city, now barely an island. Water laps against the shore. Edelgard kneels on the beach, straddling a body - Byleth, their body motionless and rigid, plugsuit taped over with bandages. Edelgard’s hair drapes down around her head as she leans down, pressing her hands to Byeth’s neck. 

It’s too far to see with any greater clarity. 

Annette takes a deep breath and pulls herself back, coughing and spitting before Ingrid can steady her. 

“Did...did we do it?” Annette asks weakly. 

“Yeah,” Ingrid says, kissing her forehead. “We did.”


	19. Epilogue

Annette stands in front of a gravestone. She brought flowers, though she isn’t much sure why. She sets them at the foot of the stone.

_ Gustave Eddie Dominic. _

There are no words, no epitaph, no numbers. The company insurance policy had paid for the grave, after all. Not that the company existed anymore. 

Annette kneels and pulls stray weeds from around the stone. 

The sun is high overhead, warm and set into a cloudless sky. Annette stands and adjusts her cast. 

There had been a lot of graves. Garreg Mach would be a place like Ailell, after all. Hills of graves, stretching across the mountaintop. Trees, too - leaves rustling in the wind. Grass sprouting up between the stones. The earth was rich and fertile, here. 

“They told me he died defending SEIROS,” Annette says quietly. “But Catherine told me the truth.”

Ingrid stands beside Annette, her hair pinned up, revealing her eyepatch and the scuffs and scars on her face. She clasps her hands behind her back, unsure what to say. 

“I…” Annette bows her head. “I don’t…” she sniffles and looks up, blinking at Ingrid. “Was that...was that really a fitting end for one such as him?” Annette closes her eyes and bows her head again. “I don’t know. I just...don’t know.”

They stand on the hilltop for some time, letting the warm breeze blow between the gravestones, letting the sun warm them. At last, Annette takes Ingrid’s hand and squeezes, gently. 

The train station isn’t far - there’s nothing else here, this far out. Just the gravestones, the trees, the flowers, the train tracks. There had been a road, once upon a time, but it, like everything else, was swallowed up. There had been cigarettes crushed under bootheels, too. Catherine’s calm, patient words. 

It’s hard not to think of that when Annette sits on the bench at Ingrid’s side, waiting for the train. 

Catherine had thanked her, of course. Clapped her on the back and congratulated her for saving the world. And, when her hospital room was empty, Catherine cried into the crook of her neck. 

The tracks rattle and wind courses down the channel of trees, signaling the approach of the 2:00 train.

Ingrid and Annette step inside and the door slides shut with a hiss behind them. The train rumbles to life, the engine and the wind and the coursing electricity sending them speeding off into the mountains. 

Annette slips her headphones over her ears and rests against the handrail.

As they round a curve, the city comes into sight - gleaming silver buildings sticking up from the bloody sea. Waves sparkling crimson in the sunlight. The tracks go around the city, now, but even still, Annette can pick out some of the places she had once been. The hospital, collapsed into a broken shell of itself. Catherine’s apartment was in there, somewhere. Probably a pile of concrete, sinking into the muck.

The traincar hits a curve and rattles, swinging the straps back and forth. Annette stumbles, and Ingrid catches her. 

She wraps her arms around Annette’s waist and rests her chin on the top of her head, and the two stare out at the city passing by. 

Annette’s tape player clicks and rewinds.


	20. Chapter 20

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! As I mentioned, the illustrations are by @jireemblem on Twitter! And if you want to follow me/say hi, I'm on Twitter @Cowboy_Sneep and on Tumblr @lucisevofficial


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